


Gucci Loafers

by intravenusann



Series: Richie Tozier's Foot Fetish [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (Not The Sex Kind), (the sex kind), Crotch Stepping, Facials, Foot Fetish, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, On The Fly Kink Negotiation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Richie Tozier's Trashmouth, Rimming, Shoe Kink, Showers, Wet & Messy, kissing after rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23732929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intravenusann/pseuds/intravenusann
Summary: “Aw, now, pun’kin, did you wear them all special for lil’ ol’ me?” Richie asks.“No,” Eddie says, his voice sharp with the annoyance Richie is seeking. It makes Richie grin to himself.“I wore them for me,” Eddie says. “But your opinion…” He clears his throat. “Matters.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Richie Tozier's Foot Fetish [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677526
Comments: 25
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of this was inspired by this amazing art by Kerua-Karua:  
> [https://twitter.com/Kerua_Karua/status/1243690583668989955](https://twitter.com/Kerua_Karua/status/1243690583668989955?s=20)
> 
> Edited, but barely.

Richie startles awake to the sound of someone breaking into the apartment. The person is a dark blur — brown hair, dark blue jacket, dark grey slacks. 

“It’s the sex burglar again,” he mumbles, reaching around blindly for his glasses. At least Eddie vaguely has limbs and dark spots where his big ol’ eyes and big ol’ eyebrows sit on his face.

“Shit!” Eddie hisses. “Rich!”

Richie slides his glasses onto his face to find Eddie clutching the shoe rack. He’s half falling over with one shoe caught on his fingertips where he was taking it off. His socks are plaid. No, not plaid. Argyle? They’re blue and red diamonds overlaid on top of each other. That’s argyle, right? Because plaid would be, like, lesbian lumberjack flannel pattern. And this is that European scholar who wears jackets with arm patches pattern. Wait, is that houndstooth?

Eddie stands at the door with one shoe on and one shoe off. 

“He was Eds, plain Eds in the evening, standing five-foot something in one shoe.”

“Five-foot, nine,” Eddie says. “And what the fuck, are you quoting something?”

“Uh,” Richie says. He swallows and his throat is all fuzzy from sleep. He sniffs. Eddie says that he snores and apparently that’s what he’s been doing on the couch with his feet stuffed under the cushions.

“You’re definitely quoting something,” Eddie says. “You used a stupid voice, even, and you’re not that poetic.”

“Aw, Eds, you think I’m poetic?” Richie asks. He levers himself off the couch with a groan. His lower back yells at him a little about what an idiot he is for sleeping on the couch. But as soon as he’s standing it goes back to feeling the way it always does: tolerably shitty. His knees crunch audibly when he stands up.

“Shut up, that’s not what I said,” Eddie tells him. “Why were you sleeping on the couch?”

Richie puts two fingers under his glasses and rubs his eye. “Would you believe I was trying to wait up for you?”

Eddie’s mouth pinches shut like he’s trying not to smile, but his dimples betray him. Richie takes a few casual and only slightly crunchy steps forward. He rubs his back above his hip on the left side. He tries to yawn through his nose and just makes a really weird face. Eddie snorts at him.

“Well, you failed that,” Eddie says. He uncrosses his arms and reaches up to loosen his tie, his other shoe apparently forgotten. “Good job.”

“Do your shoes have snakes on them?” Richie asks.

Eddie slides his tie loose from his buttoned up collar. “Matches the tie.”

“Dude, that’s so badass,” Richie says. “Look at you, all fucking fashionable and shit.”

“It’s just Gucci,” Eddie says, preening like the peacock that he is. Richie has to rub his eyes again so he can really appreciate this. Because Eddie has clearly dressed to impress. 

“The jacket is Versace,” Eddie says. He’s smiling a little, now. Up close, Richie can see fine red pinstripes cut through the dark blue. It absolutely clashes with his socks and there’s not even blue on the snake on his tie. The tie is black! And the snake is red and black, with little white stripes. That means something, Richie thinks, but he wasn’t a fucking Boy Scout so how should he know. His phone is on the coffee table so he can’t text Stan, “Hey, what snake has red and black stripes with white in between?” But, Stan would definitely know.

“Oh,  _ just _ Gucci, huh?” Richie echoes.

“They make good shoes,” Eddie says. “I have a few pairs.”

Richie busts out laughing. All his shoes fit on the shoe rack with plenty of room for Eddie’s running shoes, hiking boots, walking shoes, casual sneakers, casual boots, and casual oxfords. Eddie also has two hanging organizers in their walk-in closet stuffed with even more shoes. Apparently, he left some in New York. These were the important ones.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Richie says.

“Shut up,” Eddie says. “I know how many T-shirts you own.”

Richie laughs again, even harder. His face hurts from the size of his smile. His body leans toward Eddie’s.

“Yeah,” he says. “You sure do.”

He leans and leans, until Eddie’s hands reach up and catch him at the shoulders. Eddie holds him up like it’s nothing. Richie sighs. He touches the very end of his nose to Eddie’s. Then pulls back. He feels Eddie’s breath against his lips. He tilts his head to the side, brings his mouth softly against Eddie’s. His eyes close. This close up, his glasses don’t matter anyway. Eddie’s fingers dig into his shoulders.

Richie puts his hands on Eddie’s waist over his jacket. Under a few layers of very expensive cotton and silk and maybe a polyester blend, Eddie is a solid column. It’s not like Richie’s about to leap into his arms, bridal style, but Eddie can easily hold him up. Richie relaxes against him. Eddie’s tongue moves over Richie’s janky front tooth, shallowly tasting Richie’s mouth. He opens up more, but Eddie kisses him like that. Not deep, just wet. His lower lip moves in the space under Richie’s, where the stubble has gotten thick. The groove just over his chin stays oddly bare. But Richie has cut his lip shaving before, so he tends to leave too much stubble just above that groove. Eddie always finds it with his mouth. He runs his tongue over it, too, flattening it against Richie’s lip and teeth and chin. Richie smiles into the kiss and feels Eddie smiling back.

His nose bumps into Eddie’s when he turns his head too fast, but that’s fine. He’s not going to open his eyes. He kisses Eddie’s upper lip. Then finds the groove of his dimple with his mouth.

By touch alone, Eddie is so handsome it makes Richie feel like John Hurt. His heart is going to burst out of his chest, screaming and full of teeth.

“What’s gotten into you?” Eddie says. 

Richie lets his knees give out a little bit and wraps his arms around Eddie hard enough that all the little buttons on his pressed shirt dig into Richie’s chest and belly.

“I’m just happy to see you,” Richie says against Eddie’s cheek. He rolls his hips against Eddie, as though his dick isn’t soft under his boxers.

Eddie laughs at him.

“Get off of me, you big furry oaf,” Eddie tells him. 

Richie stands up on his own feet and straightens up. He still has his arms around Eddie as he tips his head back and does his best Wookie. It is, if he should be so bold, pretty damn good. When he looks back at Eddie with a grin, Eddie is giving him one of his fun little lopsided smiles.

“You do look damn good,” Richie says. “Did you take a selfie for Bev?”

“There was one of those photo booths,” Eddie says. “With the green screen background? Sushmitha had our section take some.”

“I want prints,” Richie says. “Did you get props?”

“No,” Eddie says. “Props are stupid.”

“That’s not what you said last week,” Richie says. 

“Shut up,” Eddie says. “We didn’t even  _ order _ anything, because I’m right and props are stupid.”

Richie feels just as compelled by Eddie’s frowns as he does by his smiles. The deep lines around his mouth seem to have some kind of gravitational pull.

“Aw, babe, there’s lots of props I like,” he says. He’s watching Eddie’s mouth, but Eddie’s forehead is where the action happens. He raises his brows until his forehead wrinkles. His hair is perfectly combed and waxed into place, like it’s straight and actually parts that way naturally.

“Do you, uh, like my socks?” Eddie asks.

Richie pulls away slightly and looks down. Eddie’s hands slide down from his shoulders to his arms where the sleeves of his shirt end. Eddie’s left thumb slides up under the sleeve, rubbing the side of Richie’s bicep.

“Aw, now, pun’kin, did you wear them all special for lil’ ol’ me?” Richie asks. 

“No,” Eddie says, his voice sharp with the annoyance Richie is seeking. It makes Richie grin to himself.

“I wore them for me,” Eddie says. “But your opinion…” He clears his throat. “Matters.”

“Just a little,” Eddie says. “A minuscule amount.”

Richie hums with agreement, at which point Eddie pinches him. He gets him right in the softness of his inner arm. And he pinches hard, too! Catches Richie’s skin between his thumb and forefinger — and even twists it.

“Fuck!” Richie shouts. He jumps back and rubs his arm. 

His traitorous mouth won’t stop trying to smile, even when he sticks his lower lip out. How is he supposed to conjure up Eddie’s sympathies with a pout if he can’t stop giggling?

Eddie grins.

“You little sadist,” Richie says. “A regular fucking Marquis de Sade.” 

He intentionally mispronounces every part of that name so it’s more like, “Mark’s Keys Dee Shah-day.”

“Well, I like my socks, so if you’re not going to tell me what you think,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. He crosses his arms and all the thin red lines on his jacket follow his movements. His tie hangs out of his front pants pocket.

“Hey now,” Richie says. “Don’t be hasty!”

He leans over suddenly, swooping down so that his face is nice and level with Eddie’s belt buckle.

“What the —”

Then Richie tries to, as they say, take it down low. His hands braced on his thigh, he bends down. His lower back screams at him in protest. Both his knees sound like an angry bowl of Rice Krispies cereal — snap, crackle, and fuck you! 

Richie falls back onto his tailbone, wincing.

“Richie!” Eddie shouts.

He sounds alarmed.

Richie holds his lower back and lets his legs stretch out a little.

“Oof,” he says. “Shit.”

“Are you alright?” Eddie asks. His fingers brush against Richie’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Richie says. “I’m fine!”

He waves his hand as if to demonstrate his own fine-ness.

“Fuck,” he says, sitting on the floor in front of Eddie. “That was gonna be so smooth.”

“Nothing about you is smooth,” Eddie says. “Except maybe your brain.”

Richie shoots off a finger gun and a fucked up wink that’s more like an extended blink because his left eye always squints shut when he tries to wink.

“Good one, Eds!” he says.

He puts his arms on his spread out knees and looks up at Eddie. Fuck, he’s so beautiful. His sloping shoulders look broader under the suit jacket. The red lines on dark navy emphasize the lean shape of him, with knife-sharp elbows to match his wits.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Richie says. “Y’know that?”

The wrinkles on Eddie’s forehead smooth out a little. His mouth relaxes out of its frown. His tongue appears between his lips and wets the top one.

As though he understands what Richie was going for all along, Eddie picks up his socked foot and wiggles his argyle-clad toes at him.

“So, do you like them?” Eddie asks.

Richie catches him around the ankle with one hand and then looks up. Is this okay? It doesn’t feel, to him, like it should be okay. Eddie flexes his foot until his toes point back toward his shin. Richie swallows. Is Eddie double-jointed? He’s really flexible. Or maybe Richie just doesn’t have any good points of reference for this.

“I don’t know,” Richie says. He puts a hand to his chin and pretends to look at Eddie’s heel the way Eddie might look at the underside of a muscle car paralleled parked along the boulevard outside their apartment. 

“What d’ _ you _ think?” he asks, teasing. 

He’s sitting splayed out in his underwear on the floor in front of Eddie, and that’s doing plenty for him already without Eddie  _ trying  _ to wind him up. He has to at least try to give as good as he’s getting.

“You idiot,” Eddie says, “I already told you I like them.”

Richie looks up at him, and Eddie’s glowering down at him with color blooming on his cheeks. Richie’s hand loosens on his ankle. His thumb follows the line of Eddie’s Achilles’ tendon. Holy fuck, are these socks  _ silk _ ? Richie cups Eddie’s heel in the palm of his hand.

“I like them, too,” he says, softly. 

And then he just can’t stand looking up at Eddie anymore. He looks at the weave of Eddie’s pants, the way the threads aren’t all quite the same shade of dark grey. Or maybe that’s the shadows. He lowers his head a little more. Maybe these socks aren’t silk — or maybe they are? They’re stupidly soft and probably cost enough to make Richie kind of angry. Socks shouldn’t be expensive! They’re socks.

He kisses the arch of Eddie’s foot. It’s quick. The point of his nose barely presses against the fabric, against the hard tendon under the ball of his big toe. 

He tries not to breathe. He really  _ tries _ .

His stomach twists into knots. He’s definitely hard. Leather, he thinks, leather and laundry detergent and Eddie’s  _ sweat _ . 

Richie lets go of Eddie and shakes his hand out. He pulls away. He swallows. His throat feels tight, clogged. He’s gotta redirect this heart-pounding, gut-clenching feeling somewhere else. He looks up at Eddie’s face. Eddie’s beautiful, open book of a face, with creases that Richie wants to run his fingers all over and kiss. Eddie’s mouth is open. His dark eyes stare right into Richie’s. 

So Richie puts his hands up on Eddie’s thighs. Eddie puts his foot down. Richie stretches up until he’s at Eddie’s hips. He pulls on the fabric a little, until it’s tight over Eddie’s crotch. 

“Now, that’s what I like to see,” Richie says.

He looks up at Eddie and licks his lips. He does like to find the shape of Eddie’s dick tucked into his nice underwear and, y’know, reacting positively. He wants that for him. Unselfishly, he wants Eddie to feel so, so,  _ so _ good. Selfishly, he wants to know that he makes Eddie feel good. It’s not just him sitting here with a half-chub. Eddie is into this, too. Eddie is into  _ him _ . It’s right there: the hard evidence.

It really does make his mouth water a little. Which is more delicious — wanting Eddie or being wanted by Eddie? It’s two great tastes that taste good together.

“Rich,” Eddie says.

Richie moves one hand inward, smoothing over the nice woven fabric. It’s also offensively, expensively soft. He cups Eddie’s balls through it.

Eddie’s weight shifts a little. And, then, Richie feels the press of Eddie’s shoe against his sternum.

Like a reflex, Richie clenches his fingers. He’s suddenly groping Eddie hard, his palm grinding up against him. Eddie groans hard. 

And, technically speaking, he kicks Richie in the chest. Just a little.

“Oh, fuck!” Eddie says. “Sorry!”

Richie laughs. It’s not like he’s even been moved. 

“I almost squeezed your nuts off, dude,” Richie says.

Eddie pulls back as much as he can. He steps back toward the door, until Richie’s hands are left hanging there in the open air.

“I didn’t mean to — I mean I did, kind of? But not with my shoe on,” Eddie says. “I wasn’t trying to punt you in the chest, man, I just thought it would be sexy. I guess? Fuck, this is  _ not _ sexy.”

Richie sits with his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t know, dude, those are some pretty sexy shoes.”

Technically, it’s one shoe. But it’s leather and it’s got a fucking snake embroidered on it! It probably costs more than Richie’s first car. 

Eddie lifts a hand and presses it over his mouth. He sticks his leg out a little and looks down at his own shoe. Richie looks up and down the whole length of Eddie’s leg, thinking about all the details of hard muscle and warm skin that lie under his very expensive pants. While Richie’s just sitting here with his balls practically hanging out.

It shouldn’t be hot, but it kinda is — Richie’s sexual philosophy if he ever had one. 

Eddie’s dressed up for a cocktail party with billionaires and Richie’s in his boxers. There’s definitely a joke in this somewhere and he’ll dig it out later.

“I mean,” Eddie says. “I guess.”

“There’s a snake!” Richie says. “Snakes are sexy!”

“Snakes are cold-blooded reptiles without legs,” Eddie says. “The kingsnake isn’t even venomous.”

“But it’s a king!” Richie says. “I mean, like, fuck monarchs, but also  _ fuck _ monarchs, y’know what I mean?”

“I don’t know what half the shit you say means,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling behind his hand. He’s still looking at his shoe.

Richie scoots forward on his ass, letting the fabric just climb right up his asshole if it wants to. He puts his hand on Eddie’s calf.

“Come on,” Richie says. “You got any other snakes to show me?”

“I will kick you,” Eddie says. “Again.”

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Richie says. “That’s what I’m aiming for.”

He’s not joking. He kind of hopes that Eddie will think he’s joking. 

Eddie lowers his hand from his mouth. He pulls his jacket back a little and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Rich,” he says, and his mouth is a crooked little line across his face framed by his broad chin and his dimples. “You wanna take that shirt off?”

Richie looks down at the T-shirt he fell asleep in. It’s grey and has been washed so many times that the screen-printed “Orgasm Donor” has cracked and flaked away in parts. It’s soft and hideous. It probably cost Richie $4 on sale a decade ago. He picks at the hem with his fingers.

“Not particularly, no,” he says. They’re right at the front door and Eddie is still fully dressed.

The thought of… Richie’s stomach does a somersault. 

Eddie sighs. Richie looks up. Eddie’s hands are still in his pockets, but Richie can see one of them moving. He’s not exactly touching himself through his pocket. But he’s not  _ not _ doing that.

“I want you to take it off,” Eddie says. He sounds annoyed. “Fucking… That’s what I meant, Richie.”

His face gets redder. His forehead is flushed.

“Oh,” Richie says.

Fuck somersaults. Richie’s insides feel like an entire balance beam routine — 8.3, for the fumbled landing on the dismount. He reaches back and grabs his shirt by the collar. His hard-on brushes against his gut when he leans forward to keep his balance. Richie throws his shirt back somewhere into their living room.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He’s blushing and beautiful.

Richie puts his hands on the floor and shifts his ass so he can sit up. He tries to fix his posture, suck in his stomach.

“You’re more than welcome, babe,” Richie says. He grins up at Eddie.

“I just,” he says. His suit jacket shoulders heave up and down with a sigh.

“I should be able to say it clearly,” Eddie says. “I mean, we’re doing something here, right? Like a sex thing?”

Richie laughs. “Yeah, I’d call this a sex thing.”

“Alright, then I should fucking — I should be able to tell you I want to see you naked,” Eddie says. He takes a hand out of his pocket, but it’s his left.

“You’re fucking hot, Richie!”

“Hey,” Richie says, resting his hand on his shin. “You’re fucking hot, too.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says.

Richie glances back down and grins to see Eddie’s hand move a little in his pocket.

“Anything for the guy I’m in love with,” Richie says. “Anything you want.”

And he means it in the way that he’d probably carve his own heart out, but Eddie would never ask that of him. He means it in the way that Eddie wants the best shit for both of them — the best dishwasher, and the best LGBTQ+ affirming therapists, and the best avocados at the farmer’s co-op. But, in this context, Richie hopes Eddie just wants a slightly kinky blowjob at the front door.

“Is there anything  _ you _ want?” Eddie asks.

Richie looks him in the eye for a long moment. Then he follows the lines of Eddie’s throat, the buttons of Eddie’s shirt, the ironed pleat of Eddie’s dress pants with his eyes.

He’s not a creep, really. Or he is a creep. But they’ve done weirder shit twice and Eddie’s out in the world picking out socks he hopes are sexy — so he’s a creep, but Eddie likes him anyway. 

“I can think of some things,” Richie says. 

He shrugs like it’s a nervous tic, but he’s staring at the hem of Eddie’s pants which sits just a millimeter, just a hair, too high. Eddie’s not tall, but he is pretty average, actually. All his dress pants used to be obscenely expensive and sit folded on the top of his Italian leather brogues. And then, one day, Eddie had bitched about how Richie’s jeans all fit him and how unfair that was just because he was tall. Richie explained that no jeans fit him, actually, until he got them tailored by a very judgmental Korean man in Silver Lake. Eddie had cackled and called him a superficial Hollywood douche, but after that… Well, Richie had already liked all of Eddie’s suits. He was trim and handsome with all the straight lines that made a suit look good right off the rack. He didn’t have to tailor around weird lumps or orangutan arms or skinny hips and wide thighs. But Eddie in a tailored suit? Cut to show off the metal at the top of his Gucci loafers and a sliver of his ankle?

Richie licks his lips and lets out a low, soft whistle.

“Are you going to tell me what the things are?” Eddie asks. “Or are you just going to sit there?”

His voice sounds a little rough, in a way that Richie can recognize without needing to look up.

“I could… show you,” Richie says. It feels like a safe bet.

Eddie makes a bitten off little groan. “Yeah, that works for me.”

Then he adds, much less casually, “I like to see you.”

Richie’s hips shift up against nothing. He’s really testing the limitations on the fly of his boxers. And he’s not going to stop to adjust himself.

He reaches out and slides his fingers under the hem of Eddie’s pants. He doesn’t have to do more than run his thumb along the sharp bones of his ankle. Eddie lifts his foot. Richie holds him by the back of his heel. His shoe feels very soft and smooth. It’s very expensive leather and Eddie’s taken good care of it.

“You’re so good at taking care of shit,” Richie says. 

“Thank you,” Eddie says. 

Richie bows his head and presses a kiss to the toe of Eddie’s shoe.

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Fuck.”

Richie moves his other hand up Eddie’s calf. The flex of his foot makes it hard as a brick when he squeezes it. Richie’s stomach does another little flip. His lips graze over the embroidered snake, the metal decoration. He presses his mouth to the top of Eddie’s ankle so hard that his nose is shoved against Eddie’s shin.

Once he starts, he can’t exactly stop. He kisses Eddie’s shin and the hollow behind his big ankle bone. He kisses the edge of Eddie’s shoe where it meets his sock. 

He thinks: If shoes have tongues, is this part the mouth?

He kisses the metal accents, two hoops connected by metal like handcuffs. There’s a sharp tang on the tip of his tongue. And then, he licks the leather of Eddie’s shoe. Like a dog. The taste goes like a shot straight through his guts, from the flat of his tongue to his dick. 

“Richie,” Eddie says. 

His voice makes Richie want to look up, but also makes him worry that if he looked Eddie in the eye right now his head would explode. There’s some expansive, humming feeling in his skull right now. He doesn’t trust it. 

He drags his chin down and licks the rounded off toe of Eddie’s shoe. It’s so soft; it’s such well-cared for leather. Richie is drooling all over it.

“Richie,” Eddie says, again. “You’re getting spit all over my shoe.”

Richie stops. He risks it and glances up. Eddie’s hand is out of his pocket and down the front of his pants instead. His belt is still on. It’s pushing up the sleeve of his jacket at an odd angle.

“Ah, shit, why is that hot?” Eddie asks. “Why is this hot? Is it because you’re hot or — fuck.”

“I think it’s definitely ‘fuck,’” Richie says. He rests his chin on Eddie’s shoe. Eddie flexes his foot further, pushing Richie’s head up and back. 

If he wanted to, Richie thinks, Eddie could press his heel against Richie’s throat.

“Fuck you,” Eddie says. His smile, when he’s strained, is a toothy little grimace. It makes Richie smile up at him.

“Oh, yeah, please,” Richie says. “Fuck me and I’ll nut all over these shoes for you, babe.”

Eddie laughs, this shaky, tight laugh. Richie’s ears burn. He wants to make Eddie make that sound all the time, that laugh specific to when his dick is hard and he’s a little embarrassed.

“Richie,” he says. “These shoes cost seven hundred dollars.”

“Well, fuck,” Richie says, “now I’ve  _ got _ to spunk on them.”

“No!” Eddie says, but he’s laughing like that. And Richie is staring up at him, his teeth and his dimples and the lines around his eyes.

“Jesus, that’s so hot,” Eddie says. “That’s so fucking hot. But no, absolutely not.”

“Okay,” Richie says. “You’re the one with a foot on my throat, so you’re the boss, Eds.”

A shudder runs through Eddie like a jolt.

“I need my foot back,” he says, “or I’m gonna fall over.”

“Yeah, okay,” Richie says. And he lets go. The heel of Eddie’s shoe comes down  _ hard _ on the floor. It’s the crack of a tree branch crashing down. Richie jumps. His hips jerk. His thighs flex.

This is over, he thinks, but it was so good while it lasted. Whatever Eddie does now — and he hopes Eddie does something — will be hot no matter what.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie says. “Lay back for me.”

He starts to undo his belt buckle, and Richie’s dick twitches.

“Sure thing,” Richie says. His throat feels too tight. He swallows. 

When he leans back on his elbows, his knees sort of fall open. He stretches his legs out, lets himself be splayed out in front of Eddie. His breathing gets shallower, makes his shoulders shake. 

“You look so good, Richie,” Eddie says. “Thanks for… for doing this for me.”

Eddie looks down at him. His lips are slightly parted, enough for Richie to see his tongue move along the edge of his teeth. Richie wants to say something, anything. Maybe, “You think I’m doing this for you? Oh, baby, you have no idea.” But then Eddie opens his fly. Richie watches him untuck his shirt halfway, then undo a few buttons. He’s getting the shirttail out of the way before he puts his hand down into his briefs.

Richie puts all his weight on one side and reaches down to finally adjust his cock. He strokes himself through the fabric of his boxers as he does it, moving his erection up toward the elastic. It doesn’t want to stay in place, but at least it’s not digging into the button or almost popping out.

“Hey,” Eddie says. “Do you remember…” He stops. He’s chewing on his lower lip, now, and there’s so little of it that he’s basically just chewing on the skin under his lip. Richie wants him to stop being nervous and go back to whatever he was before. He wants to make Eddie laugh.

“I don’t think I remember my own name right now,” he says.

“ _Richard_ ,” Eddie says, an answer and an admonition.

Richie laughs until his head tips back. He almost over balances.

“Do you remember,” Eddie says again. “You probably don’t, you were just kidding, but you… You said.”

Richie tries to smother his own giggles. He looks at Eddie, who is nervous. Eddie, who is smiling just a little. Eddie, who is looking down at Richie with big, dark eyes and touching his own dick about it.

“I say a lot of things, Eddie,” he says. 

“You sure fucking do,” Eddie says. “And I love it. God, I never want you to shut up. I hope we talk each other to death someday.”

“Kinda morbid, Eds,” Richie says.

“Remember when you told me to stand on your dick?” Eddie says.

“Jesus shitting Christ,” Richie says.

Eddie’s jaw flexes and he lowers his head a little. His chin gets cute little folds at the bottom. He looks disgruntled and so, so sexy.

“Do you remember, Richie?” Eddie asks. “Because I keep thinking about that and I don’t… You were joking. You were just joking and I shouldn’t. This is a terrible idea.”

“You should totally stand on my dick,” Richie says. He gropes himself. “Like, gently though, but… Yeah, do it.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and lets it out all at once. His eyes close for just a moment. Richie can see that his hand stills on his dick.

“Alright,” he says. “I will.”

Richie gets his hand out of the way. He leans back. His knees fall open a little more. He holds himself very still.

Eddie reaches out and braces himself on the shoe rack with his free hand. He steps closer, with his hand inching along. His gait is thrown off slightly. He leans slightly to the side. Every soft shoe fall, heel against wood, winds Richie’s nerves tighter. He’s a bolt and Eddie’s the wrench. There’s a joke in there, Richie thinks. But when Richie opens his mouth all that comes out is a dry croak.

“Jesus,” Eddie hisses. 

He lifts his foot and looks at Richie. He hesitates.

“Yeah,” Richie says, his voice strained nearly to breaking. “Come on, Eds.”

“I’m so fucking nervous,” Eddie says. “Scared I’ll hurt you, but — fuck, I want —”

The toe of his shoe brushes very gently down against Richie’s cock. It’s the slightest pressure, but Richie feels like he’s been electrocuted. If he stares any harder at Eddie’s well polished shoe over his crotch, Richie’s eyes might pop out. His heart pounds like it’s battering its way out of his chest.

“Come on, Richie,” Eddie says. “Don’t make me do all the work.”

All the air in his chest comes shuddering out.

The smooth leather sole of Eddie’s shoe moves against him, over the worn cotton of his boxers.

“Please, Rich,” Eddie says. And Richie swallows so hard he almost gags. His next breath comes out like a punch. 

“Show me what you like about this,” Eddie says. “I like looking at you.”

Richie starts shaking. He rolls his weight onto the middle of his back. His head falls back. He pushes his hard dick up against Eddie’s shoe. It feels like he could thrust as hard as he wants, his dick is fucking granite. 

He groans. The position he’s in isn’t exactly easy, and Eddie doesn’t move an inch to make it easier on him.

“Oh, fuck, Richie,” Eddie says. “You’re so hot like this. I love seeing you this way. I want to… I love kissing you and touching you and tasting you, but I just… Do you know how handsome you are, Rich? How it feels to know that you love me? You want me? I come home and this big handsome guy who loves me is fucking up his back on the couch waiting up for me.”

Richie wants to contribute, but it feels like his brain is leaking out through his cock.

“And then you let me do this,” Eddie says. “You let me do it and you let me see you like this. Oh, fuck!”

Eddie pulls his foot away and Richie thrusts against thin air for a beat. He doesn’t know what exactly he’d call the sound he makes. 

“Fuck, sorry, fuck,” Eddie says.

Richie blinks his eyes and looks up. Eddie is flexing his hand, open and closed. His pants are open, his slink black briefs with the gold on the waistband have been pulled down. Richie stares at Eddie’s cock, red and jutting straight out.

“You have to get up,” Eddie says. “Richie, I need you.”

Richie starts to push himself up.

“I’ve got…,” Eddie continues. He’s combing his hands through his hair and fucking it up wonderfully. “If we don’t go to bed right now I’m going to make you come all over my shoes and I will regret it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Richie says, grinning.

But Eddie is frantic. He throws his hands down violently. “They’re seven hundred dollars, Richie! That’s insane!”

“It sure is,” Richie says. Eddie knows that Richie doesn’t mean it at all the way he does, because he frowns despite his flushed arousal. Richie can’t help but smile up at him fondly. He looks a bit ridiculous. He’s red in the face. His dick is sticking out, stiff and wet. He’s still mostly dressed. And, then, he’s frowning at Richie like he wants to tell Richie that he’s not funny at all, not nearly as funny as he thinks he is.

“Come on, Richie,” Eddie says. “Get up.”

Richie pushes himself up until he’s sitting and then kneeling.

“Right now,” Eddie insists. 

“Alright, alright,” Richie says. “Hold your fucking horses, cowboy. Just ‘cause I like your boots and spurs—”

“Because I want you,” Eddie continues. “Naked. In our bed. I want that so bad. Right fucking now.” 

Richie stands up slowly, sways a little. Eddie lunges for him. And there’s no question if licking Eddie’s socks and shoes would take kissing off the table. Really, Eddie has loosened up a lot about that recently. Not that Richie’s going to slack on his dental hygiene. 

Eddie drags him down by the neck and shoves his mouth against Richie’s hard. His nose presses against Richie’s cheek. His glasses are getting smudged, but it hardly matters.

Eddie’s teeth close on his lower lip and then Eddie pulls back. Richie makes a very undignified noise.

“You kinky little fuck,” Richie says. He reaches up to touch his bitten lip.

“I am at least a medium in kink, I think,” Eddie says.

And before Richie can tell Eddie that he thinks he’s definitely a large in fucking, Eddie takes his face in both hands. He draws himself up close. His cock presses against Richie’s thigh.

“I want my hands on your cock,” Eddie says, voice low. “I couldn’t even feel it through my shoe and you looked so good, but I didn’t like that. I want to touch you.”

Richie’s hands find Eddie’s hip and pull him in closer. He rubs his dick against Eddie’s Versace suit.

“Oh,” Richie says. “Yeah, okay.”

“Alright, I have to — I need to get my shoe off,” Eddie says. “And I shouldn’t leave my belt here and your shirt…”

“I’m on it,” Richie says. 

Eddie gets his other shoe off and Richie bends down to get Eddie’s belt. He gets to be eye-level with Eddie’s dick for a hot second. He turns around and reaches for his discarded shirt. Eddie’s hand brushes against his ass.

“Yes?” Richie asks. He’s still bent over. All the blood that’s not in his cock is rushing to his head.

“I want to…” Eddie squeezes his buttcheek in a way that makes Richie’s dick jerk.

“Never mind,” Eddie says. And then he lets go and hurries for the bedroom.

“Wait,” Richie says. When he stands up, his back seizes up from the sudden motion. He groans and smacks his free hand against it. He makes a fist and pounds on the hurting muscle.

“Eddie, what do you want to do to my butt?” he asks into the open bedroom. He shuts the door behind him and sees Eddie putting his shoes away.

Without glancing over, Eddie says, “I saw you like that and I just wanted to wedge my dick right into your asscrack.”

“Right there in the foyer?” Richie asks, as though this offends him in any way.

Now, Eddie does look at him. He’s taking off his jacket and hanging it up. He exiles all his clothes to the dry cleaned to their own rack in the closet, so they won’t dirty other clothes but also won’t wrinkle. Richie loves it. His own array of sport coats has never looked spiffier. Thank fuck for Eddie.

“Right there,” Eddie says. “In the foyer.”

“We ought to, sometime,” Richie says.

“Maybe,” Eddie says. “But right now I want you naked in our bed.”

Richie grins. “So you said.”

Eddie walks out of their walk-in closet and his hand brushes over Richie’s cock as he goes.

“Well,” Eddie says. “What are you waiting for?” He goes to his night stand and undoes his cufflinks.

He’s taking off his watch as Richie throws himself onto the bed. It’s got all that supportive foam shit, but the bedframe still jostles from the force of it. Eddie’s dimples betray him.

Richie watches Eddie put his trays of accessories back in the drawer on his side of the bed. Then he stands there and continues unbuttoning his shirt.

Richie licks his lips. He pulls the elastic on his boxers down over his cock carefully, then wiggles them down his thighs. Eddie’s eyes move like the carriage of the shitty old typewriters they had in high school, because the county couldn’t afford computers. He tracks down the length of Richie’s body and then zips back up to his face.

“Well, Dick, are you going to do anything with that?” Eddie asks.

Richie stifles a laugh. Because this is supposed to be sexy. “What’d’you want me to do with it?”

“I want you to touch yourself,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah, okay,” Richie says. “I can do that.”

He spits into his palm, for show, then reaches down and rubs it down the length of his dick starting from the head. 

“I’m a real pro at this, you know?” Richie says. 

“Yes, I know you’re a real master,” Eddie says. His shirt hangs open now, showing the thin undershirt beneath it.

“Bator,” they both say at the same time.

“Jinx,” Richie says. “You owe me a handjob.”

“I think the traditional reward is a coke,” Eddie says. He’s stripping off his shirt now, and going to put it in the hamper. Richie turns his head against the pillow to follow him. The straight lines of his jacket and shirt hide away his lean muscles, turning muscled traps and ropey biceps into the triangular shape of a male model. Actually, male models are kinda scrawny in comparison. Eddie has his yoga-pilates abs to go with his badass scars. No malnourished runway twinks have those! 

Eddie pulls off his undershirt, not that it left much to the imagination.

Richie licks his lips and thinks about running his tongue over Eddie’s ribs, especially the fucked up ones. He could lick over the line where Eddie’s tan ends on his upper arm and over his pink little nipples. He likes to flatten the hair around those with his tongue until it’s combed straight the way Eddie does his hair.

“So,” Richie says, “how was the shindig?”

Eddie pulls off his slacks and puts them in the hamper as well.

“It was alright,” Eddie says. “Mostly it was about listening to people talk. Sushmitha said I talked too much about money, but there was dinner and drinks.”

“And a photobooth,” Richie says.

“Yeah, I’m not sure what that was about,” Eddie says. “Except, they had the option to send you the photos digitally so you could share them on Instagram.”

“People just love to be seen having fun,” Richie says.

“I don’t know how much fun we were having,” Eddie says. “But hopefully, who knows? Sushmitha really believes in the work. And, I mean, so do I. But she was a history major.”

“Oh, the liberal arts,” Richie says. “How outré.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, pulling his boxers down. He leans over and grabs Richie’s boxers off the bedspread. Both pairs go into the same hamper, Eddie’s nice dress pants mixed up with Richie’s grey sweats the same way their dry cleaning gets mixed together.

“God forbid people care about society and the way historical events impact our modern lives,” Richie says. “We ought to study stats and get MBAs to really understand the world.”

Richie sits up to better look at Eddie’s butt and his tight, hairy legs. There’s a gradient of hair above his knees that thins out until it reaches his groin. There, in the crease of his hip and his inner thigh, is where all the wiry black curls start and run up to just under Eddie’s navel. It’s exactly the right amount and the curls are so tight that it somehow never looks wild even though it’s never been trimmed. Eddie likes to talk about how much staphylococcus lives around human genitals. 

“Eat shit, English major,” Eddie says.

“Excuse you, I dropped out,” Richie says.

When he realizes he’s staring at Eddie’s dick _again_ , he looks down. Eddie’s argyle socks go up to his knees, the lines of the pattern making his calves look even more like bricks. 

“Should I keep them on?” Eddie asks.

Richie swallows. “Maybe?”

“Alright,” Eddie says. 

He climbs onto the bed one knee at a time. They meet in the middle. Richie leans forward over his knees like a gymnast and puts his hands on Eddie’s traps, right by his neck. He digs his fingers into the tense muscle.

“Love you,” he says.

“I know,” Eddie says, then kisses him. It’s a slow, hungry kiss. Not like the toothy, urgent kiss in right in front of the apartment door. Richie doesn’t get a chance to call Eddie a Han Solo wannabe fucker.

Eddie kneels across Richie’s thighs. The warm weight of him sinks into Richie’s bare skin. Eddie’s tongue traces Richie’s lips in little motions. Then, he finds Richie’s one crooked tooth. Richie kisses him back, exploring all the perfect pearly whites that never needed a retainer. His hands move up into Eddie’s hair. It’s stiff with product and Richie immediately knows he wants to write a joke about that.

But not right now. Not right now. Right now, he needs to have Eddie sliding his arms around him. He strokes Richie’s back with both hands and then works his way around to the front. When Eddie touches him like this, Richie thinks about his belly and the way his chest hair goes up over his collarbone — yeah, he can’t not think about it with Eddie’s hands petting him. But he doesn’t suck in his stomach. He doesn’t wish he’d taken up any stylists’ offers of “a beautician I know, she’s really good.” Eddie’s finger traces the hollow of Richie’s throat. He cups his hand over Richie’s chest, stroking the hair in a curve that follows the way the hair lays. 

Eddie kisses him deep enough that Richie feels like he might accidentally aspirate the tip of his tongue. His hands move down Richie’s body. His thumb dips into Richie’s belly button, just enough to make him squirm. He’d say something, but Eddie’s trying to lick his vocal chords.

If Richie got any less hard while Eddie was undressing — and he didn’t — he’s easily surpassing the “granite” mark. He feels his heartbeat in the base of his dick.

Eddie pulls back with a gasp.

“Lay back,” he says. His hands move up to Richie’s chest. 

He’s not pushing, but Richie goes down hard. His shoulders bounce a little. Eddie grins over this, please. He reaches over and arranges a pillow under Richie’s neck. Then he sits back on Richie’s thighs.

Eddie stares down at him. He’s hard again, fully. 

Richie’s staring again, because he wants to reach out and cup Eddie’s balls in his hand. He wants to feel them, warm and not too heavy. He can almost feel the tight little curls on his palm, like an itch. He wants to get Eddie dripping like a faucet all over his lap.

“Can I touch you?” Richie asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I’m just… I’m looking at you.”

When Richie laughs, his ribs pull in and his belly shakes. Like this, his thighs spread out and so does his waistline. In three dimensions, he’s just kind of big. But it all just sort of spreads when he’s laying down. 

He reaches out and Eddie doesn’t need to move too much to be in reach, which Richie is grateful for. But also, it makes him feel like the knuckle-dragger he is. Eddie scoots closer and closer, until his cock is almost touching Richie’s. Then he really puts his weight down, pulls a knee up. He sits, posed like a statue of an ancient Olympian — naked, muscular, flexible, great nose. He barely blinks.

Richie wants Eddie to look, sure, there’s no one else he’d want seeing him like this. But it’s not as comfortable as being touched.

“I look like a dropped lasagna, just spilling everywhere,” he says, because Eddie isn’t saying anything.

Eddie stretches his leg out slightly to the side and uses his hands to pull his other knee up. His hip bones press down heavy on Richie’s upper thighs.

Eddie tilts his head contemplatively. He brings a finger to his lower lip, still flushed from kissing. 

“Mmm… I think I’d eat you off the floor, then,” he says. And Richie can’t say anything to that at all. It makes him feel hot deep inside, that same lasagna when it’s fresh out of the oven. How the hell does Eddie do this?

Eddie moves close, so that Richie can put his hand around Eddie’s dick and his own at the same time. For just a moment, Eddie’s eyes blink closed. His mouth hangs open. He groans.

“Yeah, babe,” Richie says. He squeezes their cocks and picks up the speed a little.

Eddie kicks his legs out alongside the length of Richie’s arms. Then, he puts his heel on Richie’s shoulder.

“Uh,” Richie says. He turns and looks at Eddie’s foot. “Hello there.”

Eddie curls his foot like a goddamn ballerina and taps Richie’s cheek.

“Wow, pushy, alright,” Richie says. “Jeez.”

When he looks back up at Eddie, he’s leaning back with his hands on the bed. He gazes down at Richie with a smile.

“I love you,” he says.

“Yeah, I…” Richie swallows. His heart feels like a fist squeezing inside his chest. He could give Eddie the ol’ Princess Leia on Endor, but also… He can’t.

“I love you, too.” 

Eddie’s smile digs creases around his eyes that make Richie feel like a snowglobe full of glitter, violently shaken.

Then Eddie slowly strokes his cheek with his silk socked toes and Richie feels a totally different kind of violently shaken.

“Shit,” he says.

Eddie’s thrusting up into his hand, which stills. They’re still not using anything more than Richie’s spit and good luck. It’s rough in a way that’s hot, but might be regrettable. Richie doesn’t have the mental capacity to care. He turns his face and kisses the ball of Eddie’s foot, the bone just under his big toe. He squeezes his fist around his dick and Eddie’s. It feels good.

Eddie taps the end of his nose with his big toe, and it feels like an invitation. Richie answers by pressing his nose into the space between Eddie’s toes. He’s gonna die smothered by really overpriced argyle socks. The leather smell is there, still. But there’s laundry detergent. And Eddie. There’s Eddie in his nose and on his tongue when he breathes. His insides feel like molten lava. His dick is gonna erupt any second now.

“Fuck, fuck,” Richie says. He kisses Eddie’s toes through the sock.

“Okay, fuck your bougie-ass socks,” Richie says. “Goddamn British librarian shit. Probably cost like four hundred dollars.”

He gropes blindly for Eddie’s knee, while Eddie laughs. He wishes he could look at him and do this at the same time. But when he tries, he sees Eddie split in two by the frame of his glasses. The left half of him is a blur; the right, a vision of beauty. His hair falls over his forehead. His perfect teeth shine in his open smile. He’s flushed down to his bony sternum.

Richie’s fingers catch under the elastic of Eddie’s sock. He’s definitely stretching it out as he yanks it down Eddie’s shin. He catches on the heel, his knuckles pressed against Eddie’s bony ankle.

“Fuck,” he hisses. His mouth is pressed to the arch of Eddie’s foot now. He scrapes his teeth there, catching the fabric between it. Eddie hisses. He makes a choked off sound of shock. His foot flexes and then he curls his toes. Richie jerks his head up, pulling Eddie’s sock off half with his teeth.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says. “Richie, what  _ was _ that?”

He’s holding Eddie’s sock in his hand when he turns to look at him. “Was it bad?”

The lava flow inside him hits the edge of a dark, cold sea.

“No!” Eddie says. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh,” Richie says. “Well, I’d be happy to take your shilk shtockings off with my teeth any time, darling.”

“Whatever, Mr. Bond,” Eddie says. “Maybe I’ll handcuff you to a chair and you’ll only be able to use your teeth.”

Richie feels his eyes nearly pop out of his skull.

“Unless that’s too much,” Eddie says. He almost falls over bringing both hands up to cover his mouth. “Shit.”

“That was fucking amazing,” Richie says. “Let’s do that!”

“Okay, alright,” Eddie says. “Not right now, but, uh, later.”

“Yeah, later,” Richie says. “Cause right now, I — uh, I really wanna…”

“You can,” Eddie says. He curls his toes against Richie’s cheek, so gently. They’re a little cool, Richie thinks. Maybe cold? Eddie’s circulation isn’t great. Richie could warm them up.

“You mean it?” Richie asks.

“Of course I do,” Eddie tells him. 

So Richie turns his face back. He kisses the ball of Eddie’s foot again, his lips pressed to slightly callused skin. Eddie ran in school, for a while, and he runs as an adult. He doesn’t have pretty, delicate, baby soft feet. He’s got long, bony feet that are probably perfect for running. His big toe is the longest, and perfectly straight. He keeps all his nails meticulously filed and clean. Richie kisses the slight callus on the side of his toe from breaking in too many office shoes and running sneakers. 

There’s no fabric or leather taste when he opens his mouth. It’s just Eddie, clean and slightly salty. He presses his tongue against Eddie’s big toe.

“Oh, that feels weird,” Eddie says, but then he presses his toe against Richie’s tongue. He bends his toes, pushing two —  _ two _ — into Richie’s mouth.

Richie can barely remember to move his hand on their dicks right now. But Eddie helps him. Richie hears the gutteral sound of him gathering spit at the back of his throat, and then a wet palm rubs over the head of his cock. Richie’s lips close around Eddie’s big toe and the smaller second one. His tongue slides into the space between them inside his mouth. He sucks hard enough that his cheeks hollow out.

“Fuck, Rich,” Eddie says. “You’re gorgeous.”

Richie’s hand moves just below Eddie’s. They’re working together. He closes his eyes tight. He tastes salt. He feels Eddie pressing down against his tongue inside his mouth. 

His arm starts to shake while he’s trying to move it.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I got you,” Eddie says. “I’ll make you come.”

He takes Richie by the wrist and makes him let go. Then there are two spit-slicked hands on Richie’s cock. Eddie’s only jerking him off. And he’s doing it like it’s his life’s true calling.

Richie’s shoulders spasm. He gets a shock of pain from his lower back muscles. His mouth floods with spit. He bites down just a little. Eddie’s hands are like fucking vice grips. He yanks the spasms out of Richie’s body while Richie chokes down who knows what kind of embarrassing noises. At least he’s got Eddie’s toes to gag him. Holy _fuck_.

He sees bright spots of white and then grey behind his eyelids. He swallows his own spit, his tongue moving against Eddie’s toes when he does.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Eddie says. “Just like that. I love making you come this much. Like a fucking fountain for me, aren’t you?”

No, Richie thinks, a fucking volcano.

He finally pulls back, leaving Eddie’s toes all wet. He flops his head back against the pillow and his whole body against the bed. His breath comes out like a dry sob.

“I think I just came so hard I had a religious experience,” he says, voice cracking.

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie says.

Without opening his eyes, Richie says, “Yeah, you’re gonna be the second coming.”

Then he smirks a little.

Eddie aggressively wipes his spit-covered toes on Richie’s cheek while Richie laughs at his own joke. He plants a foot on Richie’s sternum when he levers himself up, pushing all the air out of Richie. There’s come all over Richie’s belly. So, Eddie wipes his hands on Richie’s ribs as he moves to kneel over him.

Richie blinks up at him. He can’t  _ not _ look at Eddie’s dick from this angle. The perspective is a low angle shot that makes his hard-on look like the biggest part of him. 

“Richie,” Eddie says. “Can I come on your face?”

“Oh, yes, puh-lease,” Richie says.

“Okay good, because I just kept staring at your face this whole time,” Eddie says. He reaches out and leans over until he’s pressing his thumb to Richie’s chin. Richie looks up into Eddie’s eyes. They’re a light brown color, framed by heavy brows and stubby, dark lashes. His pupils are bigger, maybe, so his eyes seem darker. There’s no reason Richie should feel like he’s drowning or flung through the darkness of space or anything so melodramatic. He forgets to breathe.

Which means he makes an embarrassingly sharp inhale when Eddie says, “I love your mouth so much.”

But he’s not done! Richie’s heart feels like a work rubber band. He’s thirsty, suddenly, and wants a kiss from Eddie. He wants to wet his tongue on Eddie’s.

“And that look you get when you want something,” Eddie says. “You make the dumbest faces when you come, Rich, like fucking snow flakes, each one is unique. And beautiful, you have a beautiful face.”

He holds Richie by the chin while he says it all.

“Why don’t you put your dick in it, then?” Richie says.

His jaw trembles in Eddie’s hand, just slightly. He swallows. “Please.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I want to.”

He crawls up the bed and puts a knee on Richie’s shoulder. He’s pinned, for a moment, and if he weren’t already in an post-orgasmic haze, completely blitzed on the salt taste of Eddie’s fucking  _ toes _ still in his mouth, Richie’s brain would absolutely self-destruct over the weight of Eddie’s body pressing his shoulder joint hard into the bed.

But Eddie moves around. He spreads his thighs wide across the width of Richie’s shoulders. His shins hold Richie’s arms down to the bed. He cooks wiggle them free, but why should he.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks.

“More than,” Richie says. He swallows again. His dick is still thick and sensitive and he almost wishes he could touch it. But he can’t, because Eddie’s got his legs all over him.

“Totally copacetic,” Richie continues

He opens his mouth and runs his tongue in the space between his lower lip and his teeth. Eddie breathes in like a hiss, a little kingsnake.

His hand moves over the head of his dick a few times. Then down to the shaft. Eddie’s thumb brushes against his tongue. Richie tries to lick it.

But then Eddie’s pointing his cock down, and Richie has to help him out a little. He cranes his neck up and sticks out his tongue. The head of Eddie’s dick slides over the flat of his tongue and between his lips.

“Shit,” Eddie says, a long drawn out sound of it.

Richie moves his tongue around the tip. He can’t see anything beside Eddie’s pubes and the cum gutters of his hips. So he closes his eyes.

He licks up until he can push the end of his tongue against Eddie’s slit, where he’s dripping. It’s not quite sweet or bitter, but Richie loves it. Maybe it’s because Eddie’s fit, loves showers, and has been enjoying all that pineapple he’s not actually allergic to. Maybe it’s because Richie’s been cartoon heart eyes in love with him for three decades. But he thinks Eddie’s dick tastes good.

“Rich,” Eddie says. “Fuck.”

No, Richie thinks. Eddie fucks. He’s fucking Richie’s mouth in little thrusts.

Richie closes his lips around the head and sucks until all he can taste is his own spit. He moves his head as much as he can. Eddie’s dick hits him right in the soft palate when he thrusts, and Richie’s throat convulses. Tears come to his eyes. He’s making wet, gagging noises.

“Holy fuck, Richie,” Eddie says. “You’re so hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

He can taste it as Eddie gets closer. The spit in Richie’s mouth gets a tinge of something else. Eddie’s come, but not quite. Just more of the clear, runny pre-come. 

“Richie,” Eddie says. His thumb pushes at the drooling corner of Richie’s mouth. Eddie’s fingers tuck under his chin. Eddie can’t make a splash zone out of Richie’s mug while Richie’s still got his dick in his mouth. And that’s a damn shame, honestly. He opens his mouth.

Eddie leans back and strokes his dick. He readjusts his grip, tugging the skin of the shaft up over the ridge of his dickhead. Richie leaves his mouth open. He sticks his tongue out a little, playfully. When he looks up, Eddie’s staring down at him. He’s bright red all the way down his neck and chest to his fuzzy little nipples. His brows are drawn tight together. His mouth hangs open, slightly. Richie can hear him breathe.

Eddie makes a choked little sound. His throat convulses. His eyes squeeze shut. His jizz splashes across Richie’s tongue and upper lip. Some of it goes up his nose when Richie flinches back. It smears across his glasses, up his forehead, in his hair. Some of it hits the underside of Richie’s chin and drips down the side of his neck toward his ear.

Richie laughs, delighted.

“Oh, God,” Eddie says. “Oh, fuck.”

He leans over Richie to brace himself on the headboard.

“Fuck,” he says, stretching the word out into a sigh. He slowly slides down Richie’s body. Richie’s elbows feel like television static as the circulation returns to them. He has to keep one eye closed, because the lens has been completely painted with Eddie’s jizz and he’s worried about it getting in his eye. It burns when that happens!

Their skin sticks together where Eddie’s hard pilates abs touch the half-dried come on Richie’s stomach. 

Richie flexes his partially numb hand. Then he reaches up and finds the back of Eddie’s head, where the hair is shorter.

“Was it good for you?” Richie asks. 

Eddie sighs and buries his nose against Richie’s neck as though there isn’t semen dripping down his jawline.

“Cause it was fucking amazing for me, hot stuff,” Richie says.

Eddie gives a little grunt. Then he kisses Richie’s neck. Just lips at first, but then a little teeth. He’s the bane of every makeup person that Richie has to work with, leaving red-speckled kiss marks in Richie’s neck stubble.

Richie strokes his fingertips over Eddie’s hair. Sweat has softened the product a little.

The seconds or minutes or whatever seem to stretch out forever. Somehow, Richie doesn’t think much. Eddie is warm. Eddie’s body rises when Richie breathes in. Their breathing falls into sync.

When Eddie lifts his head he looks at Richie. Richie looks back with one eye.

“Yuck,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, you really spunked me up good,” Richie says. “I feel like that fence in ‘Tom Sawyer.’”

Eddie’s eyebrows say, “I’m disappointed in you.” But the dimples appearing beside his very flat mouth say, “You are the funniest man alive, Rich Tozier, and I love you.”

“Or maybe New York City after the Ghostbusters cross the streams on the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man,” Richie says, grinning.

Eddie gags and laughs at the same time. “Great, now I’m never gonna think about that the same way again.”

“We should watch that this weekend,” Richie suggests.

Eddie moves until his nose brushes Richie’s. His breath is warm on Richie’s lips. Richie closes both eyes. Eddie’s closed mouth lightly touches his.

“Come shower with me,” Eddie says, in a whisper.

“Like I’m gonna say no to that,” Richie whispers back. “I’m covered in dick slime.”

Eddie makes a disgusted noise in his throat that makes Richie blindly lean up. He smooches Eddie’s chin with puckered lips. Eddie makes another sound, something fonder. He lightly kisses Richie’s mouth.

“Alright, we have to get up,” Eddie says. He levers himself up on his arms. Their skin peels apart, stuck together by sweat and Richie’s jizz. He does want to shower.

When Richie moves with a groan, Eddie grabs him by both arms. He yanks him up. Richie sways on his feet. To make Eddie laugh, he threatens to fall forward onto him.

“Shit,” Eddie says, but Richie can see him grinning through his one glasses lens.

“I love you so much,” Richie says. Everything feels warm and softly glowing, like his life is shot through a camera lens smeared with Vaseline.

“I still have a sock on,” Eddie says. “Damn.”

Richie sighs. He just stands there and watches Eddie balance his ankle on his knee cap as he peels his other sock off. He picks up both socks and tosses them into the hamper together. One misses.

“I’m looking at the world through cum-colored glasses,” Richie says, with another sigh.

Eddie turns away from the laundry basket and draws his eyebrows together. His mouth quivers just a little, before he bursts out laughing.

“Jesus Christ, Rich, that’s disgusting,” Eddie says.

“What can I say?” Richie replies. “It’s a gift. This is my idea of romance. Eddie Kaspbrak’s man frosting all over my mug.”

“I hate you,” Eddie says, his whole chest shaking with laughter.

He leads the way into the bathroom, where Richie reluctantly takes off his glasses. The door doesn’t lock.

“Shit,” Eddie says.

“What?” Richie asks. 

“I left my phone in the key basket,” Eddie says.

Richie’s phone, he realizes, is sitting on the coffee table where he set it down after reading through emails and video game reviews while waiting for Eddie to come home.

“I think mine’s on the coffee table,” Richie says. His hand is still on the faucet.

“Let me wash my hands real quick,” Eddie says. His shoulder pushes against Richie’s ribs. He reaches under Richie’s arm. Richie realizes he’s being asked to turn on the faucet. Eddie is a blur of human color, dark hair and tan skin. He looks at the mirror, but this close Eddie’s eyebrows and eyes are smudgy suggestions in the fuzzy shape of his face.

“Thanks, Rich,” Eddie says. “I’ll take care of your phone.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of Richie’s jaw. And then, Eddie’s slips right out.

“You’re just walking around naked?” Richie shouts after him. The water is still running. He puts his glasses under the tap and starts rinsing off Eddie’s come.

“That’s real scandalous,” Richie says. “What would the neighbors think?”

“You want to fuck on the couch,” Eddie shouts through the open doors. “You hypocrite!”

“Of course!” Richie shouts back. “There are Trashmouth standards of propriety, and then there are Edward Kaspbrak standards.”

He uses handsoap to wash his glasses after most of the gunk is washed off. There is a special wash that Eddie made him buy, because the handsoap is damaging to the non-scratch coating on the plastic lenses or whatever. But that’s somewhere in the cabinet and Richie can’t see shit right now. Richie’s needed glasses most of his life and handsoap is probably the mildest of his abuses against prescription eyewear.

He’s just rinsing the soap off when Eddie returns. He closes the door and locks it. Richie puts his glasses back on.

“Hey there, handsome,” he says, leaning back against the sink counter.

“You didn’t wash your face?” Eddie asks.

“Nah,” Richie says. “That’s what the shower is for.”

“Okay, well,” Eddie says. He sighs a little and leans back against the bathroom door. The scar on his chest pulls at the skin. His ribs move differently on that side, Richie thinks when he looks for a long time. Which he only does sometimes when he climbs into bed with Eddie after his weekly residency gig or a late night writing session. He doesn’t want Eddie to wake up and catch him. He likes to turn and face Eddie for a while, though, and rest his hand on that spot. Now, he wants to kiss it.

“Tonight really went places, didn’t it?” Eddie asks.

“It sure did,” Richie says.

“Did you have anything to eat?” Eddie asks. “We could…”

He trails off and Richie watches the muscles in his jaw flex when Eddie looks away from him.

“Eh, you know,” Richie says. “Some hot Cheetos, a little semen.”

Eddie’s attention snaps right back to him, like a boomerang. Richie has a vivid flash of a memory — trying to carve one of those out of balsa wood from Bill’s forgotten interest in making a model airplane. It hadn’t worked and Eddie told them how stupid they all were, stomping his feet through the Barrens and making Richie, who definitely needed new glasses at the time, help him find it. Stan had explained why it didn’t work — something about physics, probably. Ben had found it the next weekend, by chance.

Eddie is frowning at him.

“I’m kidding,” Richie says. “I had a spinach salad with some fried egg in it.”

Eddie nods slightly, with approval. 

“And then some crunched up Oreos on top of that lactose-free, protein ice cream you got.”

Those happy little caterpillars on Eddie’s face try to kiss again.

“Was it the birthday cake flavor?” Eddie asks. His eyes narrow.

“Obviously,” Richie says. “That’s the best one, since you don’t buy the coffee one anymore.”

He grins as Eddie approaches him. Eddie leans up, jawline sharp as a knife. He plants his hands on the sink counter on either side of Richie. Even when Richie leans back, Eddie’s belly touches his. Eddie’s curly, untrimmed pubic hair brushes against Richie’s thigh. It all gives him a thrill, even if his dick needs a vacation. They’re just naked! Together! In the bathroom that they share!

“You’re a thief, Rich Tozier,” Eddie says, his breath against Richie’s throat. 

“Also,” he says, “they never have the coffee flavor anymore, I even tried speaking to the manager about it.”

It feels like Eddie’s holding Richie’s beating heart in his hand, and gently petting it with his thumb while it pounds.

“Aw, of course you did,” Richie says. He grins.

“Anyway,” Eddie says, cutting Richie off of the topic before he can rag on Eddie for hassling service industry workers. “I ate at the benefit, so we can just…”

Eddie pushes up on his toes until his lips move against Richie’s chin. “We can just brush our teeth, go to bed.”

“Kind of an early night,” Richie says. He’s keeping it cool. Keeping it casual. It’s not like Eddie’s dick is touching his dick. It’s not like Eddie’s dick is still damp with Richie’s spit and also _touching Richie’s dick_.

“Could be an early morning, too,” Eddie says.

“Oh, I see,” Richie says. “I see.”

The breath comes shaking out of him when Eddie pulls away.

“Alright, then, I need to get at my toothbrush,” Eddie says.

“Oh, am I in the way or something?” Richie asks.

“Yes,” Eddie snaps. “Idiot. You’re the size of the fucking fridge and your sink counter is enormous.”

Richie laughs until Eddie physically shoves him to the side with his shoulder. He gets his electric toothbrush out of the cabinet, because it’s too big for the holder. Which means, really, that the toothbrush holder Eddie bought because he told Richie that he couldn’t live without it only holds Richie’s toothbrush now. 

He’s started one of those subscription services that will send him a new biodegradable bamboo toothbrush every three months. The bristles come in different colors!

He wets the pink bristles and takes the Sensodyne tube when Eddie offers it.

Eddie’s futuristic new toothbrush has a timer that automatically shuts off after two minutes. Richie could easily just time himself to that. And, really he does. They stick their toothbrushes in their mouths at the same moment, like a pair of synchronized divers.

In the bathroom mirror, Eddie’s eyes catch his. Richie starts humming, “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?”

Upper, outer. Upper, top. Upper, inner. Richie watches as his mouth starts foaming up like a rabid dog. That damn overbite! Eddie keeps his toothbrush, and therefore his toothpaste tight inside his mouth. So it just looks like he’s trying to contain a horrible alien fetus, or a squirming frog.

Eddie takes his toothbrush out, and he looks at Richie. There’s toothpaste foam running down Richie’s chin. They spit into the sink at the same time. Then, Eddie starts laughing.

He fills a stainless steel cup from the tap to rinse his mouth. Richie just catches some water in his hands to do the same. But he watches Eddie’s face scrunch and stretch as he swishes the water around in his mouth. When his cheek puffs up like a hamster’s, Richie wants to reach out and poke him.

“You look like an angry puffer fish,” Richie says.

“You look like Blue from ‘Blue’s Clues’ got rabies,” Eddie says.

Richie explodes with laughter. “How the fuck do you even know what ‘Blue’s Clues’ _is_?” 

“Office welcomes kids,” Eddie says, shrugging. “That new guy, Nick, has a boy the same age as Sushmitha’s kid.”

Richie swallows down a joke about Eddie having a job so easy that toddlers can do it. He enjoys just watching Eddie open the shower door and get in to start the water running. Richie licks his lips and tastes Cool Mint. He moves to get one last look at a fraction of Eddie’s calf and the back of his knee. Then, Richie takes his glasses off. 

He sets them on the sink counter. The black frames are a dark smudge against pale granite. Half the time, Richie knocks them right into the sink when he tries to pick them up again.

In college, the dorm showers had a tiled edge that broke one of Richie’s toes because he could never see it. He ripped the shower curtain pole off the wall in one of his first apartments when he tripped over the edge of the tub. When Eddie hassled him about the only tub being in the guest bathroom, Richie had told him these stories. The misadventures of Trashmouth that Eddie had missed out on.

“Did you go to the hospital?” Eddie had asked, about Richie’s broken toes and bruised skull.

“Oh, hell no,” Richie had told him. “Who has money for that?”

Eddie is the first person that Richie has ever showered with. But Eddie is the first person Richie has slept with more than once who hasn’t tried to take his glasses off his face to do it. Eddie is a lot of Richie’s first persons. All of it adding up to the first person Richie has ever really loved.

“What are you waiting for?” Eddie asks. His face has features if Richie squints. Which he does, because he needs to be able to see Eddie’s eyebrows.

“An engraved invitation,” Richie says.

“Here’s your invitation, dipshit,” Eddie says. “Get the fuck in the shower while it’s hot.” 

Richie’s going to assume that Eddie’s hand gesture is a middle finger, because he’s already relaxed his eyes.

He gets in the shower, where he can’t tell the tile from the grout. He worried, the first few times, that it would be filthy. But they’ve got a cleaning service, now. And Eddie has a couple extra toothbrushes in the cabinet under the sink which are labelled “toilet,” “sink,” “grout.” Richie smiles just to think of those.

“Go rinse off, at least,” Eddie says. “I can’t believe you brushed your teeth with semen on your face.”

“Your semen!” Richie points out. 

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie says. “I couldn’t stop fucking staring. If I still had wet dreams, I just know I’d have one about _that_.”

Richie grins into the shower spray so hard he gets a mouthful of water. When he turns around, he tries to spit it out at Eddie, but he doesn’t know how close Eddie is.

“You’re gross,” Eddie says.

“I love you,” Richie says. So much it makes him not care that Eddie can see him and he can’t see shit.

“I was going to use my face wash on you anyway,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to sweet talk me.”

“Oh, but baby, you know I love to sweet talk you,” Richie says. He finds Eddie’s waist with his hands. He slides his wet palms over Eddie’s back.

“Yeah, I do,” Eddie says.

“Bar soap would be fine,” Richie says. That’s always pretty easy to find and it’s not like Richie could mistake it for anything else.

“I’ve already got it on the washcloth, so just let me… Let me do this,” Eddie says.

“Okay,” Richie says. He can see the white of the washcloth, but not how close it is to his face. He just closes his eyes. That’s safer anyway.

The shower pounds hot water against the back of Richie’s neck. Eddie scrubs his forehead gently in little circles up to his hairline.

“Fuck, you’ve got to wash your hair,” Eddie says. “There’s stuff in it.”

Richie laughs. “There sure is.”

Eddie goes full aesthetician all over Richie’s face, scrubbing him from his eyebrows to his collarbone. He even cleans behind Richie’s ears.

“How did shit even get here?” Eddie asks.

He rinses the washcloth off, then just soaps it with something else. Not bar soap, that’s for sure!

“Here,” Eddie says, putting a washcloth in Richie’s hand. “I know you like using your hands, but your hands don’t exfoliate.”

“Is exfoliation the only thing that matters to you?” Richie asks. He kind of slaps Eddie in the chest when he tries to get started.

“Yes,” Eddie says.

Richie still runs his hands over Eddie. They become a pair of boiling Maine lobsters when Eddie sets the shower temperature. And Eddie is blatantly letting Richie shield him from the direct spray. Steam makes their skin wet. The moisturizing or whatever body wash that Eddie uses is slicker than bar soap. Eddie slips a hand under Richie’s arm. Richie lifts his elbow.

“Bet you like that,” Richie jokes.

“Oh, trust me, I’m doing all of this for me,” Eddie says.

It makes Richie feel unsteady in the heat. Eddie even kneels down and scrubs Richie’s thighs and calves.

He stops often to rinse the cloth, to take Richie’s cloth and rinse that too. Then there’s more soap. Richie feels like he’s an easy addition to Eddie’s complex shower process. Richie takes less than ten minutes and usually only the bar of soap. But Eddie’s showers have only gotten longer and longer. Products that Richie doesn’t even know the names of appear in their shower. Richie thinks of them in colors: the little blue thing, the black bottle, the red one.

Eddie is gentle when he touches Richie’s dick, scrubs between his thighs. He slips his hand and the washcloth behind Richie’s balls and then slowly up the cleft of his ass. Richie shivers. 

“Turn around,” Eddie says, pressing his chest against Richie’s ribs from the side.

“Yeah, okay,” Richie says. He feels soft from the steam, like it has melted his brain. 

Eddie touches him with soapy fingers, and Richie just… He just lets him. He braces himself on the shower wall.

“You trying to do something here?” Richie asks. Eddie’s cupping the washcloth and one of Richie’s buttcheeks in the same hand. His finger keeps sliding up and over Richie’s hole through hair being moved by the flow of water down Richie’s back.

“No, I’m just,” Eddie says. 

He doesn’t explain. Richie bows his head.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “You can just.”

“I mean, you could,” Eddie says. “You can, too, if you want.”

Richie sighs. The shower hits him right below the shoulders. He knows he must be red all over his back.

“I wanna wash your hair,” Richie says.

They move around each other to rinse off. Eddie takes a moment to rinse the washcloths and soaps them up again to wash his feet. Richie kind of wishes he could see the finer details of Eddie leaned against the wall and holding his own foot up to work a washcloth between his toes. But he likes the spirit of that, and he can fill in with his imagination.

He quickly washes his hair with the shampoo that Eddie squeezes into his palm. It’s perfunctory in comparison to the way Eddie does things.

Richie bows his head into the shower. Eddie’s arms wind around his ribs. He feels Eddie’s cheekbone between his shoulders. All he hears is the rush of water.

They’re quiet, maybe from the heat or maybe Eddie is tried. Richie doesn’t feel like interrupting this quiet. He has Eddie’s complete attention, anyway. He doesn’t need to be able to see to know that. Eddie puts the shampoo in his own hair. Then he guides Richie’s hands by the wrists. Richie closes his eyes.

He combs through Eddie’s hair, scrubbing shampoo gently over Eddie’s scalp. The strands of hair separate and curl around his fingers. He’s so warm that he can feel his pulse in his fingertips and toes. Richie just moves his hands the same way again and again. Eddie’s hair is soft and soaking wet. It’s slick between his fingers. Everything smells like eucalyptus and tea tree oil and mint or whatever the fuck. Everything smells clean. Richie’s fingertips turned into raisins long ago.

Eddie’s hands move over the scrubbed skin of Richie’s chest. He draws patterns over Richie’s ribs.

Richie rubs his fingertips in circles at the base of Eddie’s skull.

“Christ, Rich,” Eddie says, breaking the silence.

“Alright, I gotta rinse off,” Eddie says. “I think I’m cooked.”

“Oh, I’ve been totally boiled,” Richie says. “Like a… Like a Maine… I’m not even gonna say it. You know.”

“Well, I’m ready to get out of the pot and go to bed,” Eddie offers.

He gets around Richie to rinse his hair, but Richie reaches for him again. He watches the movement of Eddie’s elbows when he combs his hands through his dark hair. Richie finds the scar on Eddie’s back with his fingertips. It fills with water. Richie thinks of drinking from it, like a cup.

Then Eddie turns the shower off.

Richie lets him open the shower door. Richie towels off his face and goes for his glasses. He knocks them into the sink, then puts them on and sees less than before. They’ve fogged up. He keeps them on, though, as he towels off from his hair down. It’s quick, but he gets the job done. He’s not gonna drip all over the bedroom floor right in front of Eddie. And he doesn’t want to get the bedsheets wet.

Eddie unlocks the bathroom door when he’s ready. The steam follows them out.

Richie takes a deep breath of cooler, less humid air. His glasses start to de-fog.

“I think,” Eddie says. “I’m not going to put on pajamas.”

Richie raises his fist slowly. Eddie squints at him, suspiciously. The suspicion is fully earned, Richie thinks, because he slowly pumps his fist. 

“Score,” Richie says.

“Drink some water, your voice sounds awful,” Eddie tells him.

Richie goes back into the steam room of their bathroom to drink from Eddie’s little toothbrushing cup. When he gets back, Eddie is laying out his running clothes and still buck-naked. Now, Richie can see him. His dick considers coming back online. It’s definitely going to be ready to go when he wakes up with Eddie’s bare dick against his bare ass.

Richie stands in the bathroom doorway for a moment, then hits the light.

He climbs under the covers and peeks at Eddie from the edge of the blanket.

“You’re so stupid,” Eddie says, smiling. “That’s not cute.”

“It would be cute if you did it,” Richie says. “Cause you got big ol’ Bambi eyes.”

“Shut up,” Eddie tells him. He climbs under the blankets.

“You gonna sleep in those, four eyes?” he asks.

Richie turns over and looks at Eddie’s eyes when he smiles. The skin creases around his eyes until the lids look like just more wrinkles. The light of Richie’s bedside lamp glitters in the dark of his irises.

“Nah,” Richie says.

Eddie closes his eyes and leans in for a kiss.

“Love you, Rich,” he says.

“Love you, too,” Richie says, their lips still touching.

He takes his glasses off after he’s turned off the light. Eddie lays on his side to fall asleep, but he rests his hand against Richie’s side under the blankets. Richie feels like he barely breathes deeply twice before he’s asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie wakes up sticky.

Eddie wakes up sticky. His dry tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. His chest sticks to Richie’s back with a thin layer of sweat. The head of his hard dick sticks perfectly into the cleft of his ass. 

Before he opens his eyes, Eddie thinks he’s still dreaming. He’s so warm. He knows it’s Richie under his hands. He knows he’s kissing Richie through the gap between his thumb and forefinger, with his hand pressed to the back of Richie’s neck. He rolls his hips against Richie’s ass in time with their breath. 

Slowly, Eddie realizes he needs to pee. He has to wake up. He is _already_ awake.

Richie is snoring, softly, a little rattle when he breathes in.

Fuck, Eddie thinks. He jerks his hips back and away from Richie’s warm, sleeping body.

He swallows and his throat itches. He needs to cough. He doesn’t want to wake Richie up.

Eddie peels his hands off Richie’s belly and neck. Richie smells like Eddie’s shampoo, eucalyptus and mint. That was a mistake; Richie has thinner and dryer hair. But now isn’t exactly the time to ask Richie if his scalp feels kind of tight or irritated.

He moves further and further away from Richie until he can pull the covers off. The air hits him, and Eddie shivers.

Eddie’s bladder twinges, a reminder that he didn’t pee after the party or after sex. Both bad ideas! This is how people get UTIs and kidney stones. He could get a bladder infection. By the time Eddie makes it to the guest bathroom, he half expects to be pissing blood. When he stands up, he looks. No blood.

Eddie sighs. He realizes, while washing his hands up to the elbows, that he left his FitBit in the master bathroom overnight. So this week’s sleep graph is fucked.

Also, he’s still naked and hard. Eddie looks down at himself and so vividly imagines Richie’s mouth around his dick — on his toes — that he has to close his eyes. He wants to press the heels of his hands into his eyes, but he _just_ washed them.

“Don’t touch your face, Eds,” he says. “Don’t touch yourself either.”

Erection and all, Eddie goes to the kitchen and fills a glass with water. There’s no way he’s going to be able to go for a run like this. He chugs his water and sets the glass in the sink. He fills another glass, and looks to the side at the coffee maker. If he’s planning to go wake Richie up, Eddie could at least…

He sighs.

There is something humiliating to making coffee while standing naked in the kitchen with his cock sticking eagerly out. He likes to be naked in the apartment, because he can. But not… like this. Now, he’s definitely going to want to disinfect everything at crotch level. He makes food in here!

Hunched over himself, Eddie waits for the coffee maker to start spitting out some decent brew. He stands in the middle of the kitchen with his arms crossed, trying not to touch anything — especially his dick. He keeps thinking about Richie in his boxers, working and cooking and cleaning and eating, how he just lies around the house in his underwear. When there’s enough to make half a cup, Eddie snatches the carafe out of the coffee maker. It hisses loudly as he pours coffee into one of Richie’s souvenir mugs. Eddie shoves it back in perhaps a little too hard.

The glass of water in his right hand is cold. The mug of coffee in his left is hot. Between them, Eddie feels like he’s going to grind his teeth to dust if he doesn’t jerk off right now, right here in the living room.

He gently closes the bedroom door behind him with his heel.

Going to his side of the bed first, Eddie takes his own coaster and brings it over by putting the glass of water on it and picking up both at the same time. He sets it on Richie’s bedside table, near his glasses. He puts Richie’s mug on his own coaster, one of the plastic and foam ones that changes color with hot drinks. It’s been folded on one corner and the foam is falling apart. It blooms red and yellow on black underneath the coffee mug.

“Richie,” Eddie says.

He sits on the edge of the bed near Richie’s folded hands. He reaches out and brushes the Clark Kent curl up over Richie’s super-sized forehead. 

“Wake up,” he says.

He watches as Richie squeezes his eyes shut. Little creases form between his eyebrows. Eddie smooths his thumb over them and Richie relaxes. Eddie leans over him. He licks his lips.

“Baby,” he whispers. “Wake up, please.”

Richie’s eyes blink open. He squints at Eddie.

“Eddie?” he asks. “What time is it?”

Richie licks his upper lip and then yawns so widely that Eddie can see his tonsils. He’s put his dick that deep in Richie’s throat, he thinks. Richie would let him do it again. He wants to kiss him so badly, just roll him over and knock the air out of his lungs with the force of it. 

“Early,” Eddie says. “Have some water.”

“Okay,” Richie says. He blindly reaches for the glass of water and Eddie moves to hold the glass so Richie won’t knock it over.

Richie flops onto his back while holding the glass, then wiggles his shoulders until he’s half sitting up on his stack of three pillows.

“You alright there?” Eddie asks.

“Just peachy,” Richie says, before taking a big swig of water. Eddie watches Richie’s throat as he swallows, the bob and return of his Adam’s apple. 

Richie finishes half the glass and then sets it back down on the wood of his bedside table. Eddie sighs, but he doesn’t move it back to the coaster. Richie picks up his glasses and puts them on.

“Oooooh, coffee,” Richie says. “You really do love me.”

“Of course, I do,” Eddie says. He feels feverish as he leans in close and kisses Richie’s temple while he’s sipping his coffee.

“Fuck,” Richie says, lips against the mug. “I gotta brush my teeth.”

“I haven’t,” Eddie says, whispering it into Richie’s cheek like a secret.

“You kinky son of a bitch,” Richie says. “Go brush your teeth.”

Eddie pulls back and frowns at Richie.

“I’m drinking my coffee!” Richie says. “Go!”

When he stands up, Eddie does nothing to cover his cock, which is still hard. It’s not hard enough to hold a full 90-degree angle from his body, anymore, but it’s flushed and just a little wet. Richie’s eyes go wide. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He’s got approximately a thousand wrinkles right now. Eddie swears his nostrils even flare.

“Damn!” Richie says. “Nice boner, Kapsbrak!”

Eddie turns away silently, because it’s what Richie deserves right now. Both in the sense of Richie deserving a moment to wake up, just like Eddie’s had. But also: Eddie’s horny and spiteful. He doesn’t _want_ to go brush his teeth. The feeling is almost alien to him. When he licks over his front teeth, they feel slimy. He shudders slightly. 

“Ten out of ten!” Richie shouts at his back. “That’s a great dick!”

Eddie shuts the bathroom door.

“My favorite dong!” he hears Richie shout. “Put that schlong in a museum!”

His cheeks feel tight with the force it takes not to laugh. Eddie brushes his teeth and glares at his own reflection. He’s been planning this, he thinks. Richie knows that. He pushed Richie up against the same sink counter he’s leaning on. When Eddie looks down, he thinks less about Richie brushing his teeth with Eddie’s semen dripping down his cheek and more about how Richie’s ass was up against this counter last night. It makes him pick his hand up, but reluctantly. 

Eddie’s toothbrushes buzzes with a warning and then shuts off. He spits into the sink. The toothpaste on his lips leaves a faint strip of electric blue foam on the stainless steel cup, so he washes his hands and the cup at the same time. It drips on the marble counter.

With as deep a breath as he can, Eddie thinks about what he wants. What he wanted last night when he asked Richie to go to bed and wake up early with him. What he wanted when he scrubbed gentle circles across Richie’s broad cheekbones and his stubbled jaw. What he wanted when he bent down to soap up Richie’s hairy thighs and looked Richie right in the nutsack the whole time. He knows Richie would have let him… 

Eddie lets each breath out slowly. Breathing with intention, he thinks. Slowly filling every lobe, every alveoli. Letting himself empty out.

He turns and unlocks the door. 

Richie’s coffee mug and water glass are both empty when Eddie returns. Richie, himself, sits up with the topsheet and quilt pooled in his lap. His skin creases at his hips in a way that Eddie wants to run his tongue along. Richie sniffs and then rubs his face with both hands. His glasses hang hooked off his thumb. His hair sticks straight up in just the worst way to show off the spots where it’s thinning. All Eddie can think is how much he wants to kiss the top of Richie’s head and how warm Richie’s scalp would be. Is it feeling dry?

Eddie tries not to rush back to Richie’s side, but it still feels like he only takes three steps before Richie is looking up at him from behind his glasses. Richie smirks at him and looks down. Eddie reaches out and clamps both hands on the sides of Richie’s face, until his cheeks squish. 

“My eyes are up here,” Eddie says, until Richie’s fish-looking, four-eyed face turns back up to his. He raises his eyebrows and tries to grin. Eddie kisses the creases on his forehead.

Then he kisses Richie’s puckered mouth.

His hands shift to Richie’s wide jaw. The overgrown stubble scrapes Eddie’s palms. The sensation runs down his spine like water and pools in his guts. 

Eddie pushes his teeth against Richie’s lips.

“Shit,” Richie says against Eddie’s mouth. “Eds.”

His breath smells, and Eddie can _taste_ it — the sourness of sleep and black coffee. Eddie pushes his tongue into Richie’s mouth.

Eddie pushes and Richie goes down, slowly. His hand runs up Eddie’s back, over spots that break out in gooseflesh and spots that feel nothing at all. Richie cups his shoulder blade in one hand and holds the back of his neck with the other. Eddie breathes in through Richie’s mouth. He feels the air moving in Richie’s throat and over his tongue.

He pulls air out of Richie’s body and into his own. Then he breathes out into Richie. It’s unsustainable, but Eddie refuses to be the first to pull away. He hears Richie wheeze in through his nose, which is pressed against Eddie’s cheekbone. Richie’s glasses frames are digging into a spot under Eddie’s left sinus so hard it will leave a mark.

Pushing his knee between Richie’s thighs over the top sheet, Eddie thinks about how Richie must look under him right now. He can’t stop thinking about last night. He feels like he dreamed it all: Richie’s body tilted up on his elbows and splayed at the knees. The swell and curve of his inner thighs, the dark hair peeking out over the waistband of his boxers and below the hem. 

In Eddie’s fantasy, Richie is naked on their living room floor. That is _not_ what happened, Eddie thinks.

But it could have? Richie would let him, wouldn’t he?

Eddie grinds his cock down against Richie’s with the sheets in between them. 

Richie tries to say something, but Eddie’s tongue is in the way. The hands on Eddie’s back and neck move to his shoulders. Richie pries him off with one hard shove. Eddie almost takes Richie’s lower lip with him, between his teeth. Richie yelps.

“Damn, you’re a piranha,” Richie says. “Or what are those bugs that clamp down so hard they use them for stitches in some places? Is that earwigs?”

“What the fuck,” Eddie says.

“I have to brush my teeth, too,” Richie says. “Get off me.”

“Oh, I’m going to get off,” Eddie snaps. He tries to lunge down at Richie’s mouth. He’s so hard he doesn’t even care if Richie’s breath tastes like sour milk. He still wants him.

Richie groans and closes his mouth tight. Their noses collide sharply. Richie’s arms close around Eddie’s middle, pinning his arms to his ribs. Then Richie rolls them both over, onto Eddie’s side of the bed.

Eddie kicks his legs as they get tangled up in the quilt and topsheet.

“Fuck you!” Eddie says. “This is cheating!”

Richie leans in close and kisses his cheek, right in the center of Eddie’s scar.

“If I don’t brush my teeth now, I’m going to forget to brush my teeth later,” Richie says.

“I don’t care!” Eddie says, though he probably does actually. Dental hygiene is kind of important. Even a small gum infection can lead directly to heart disease.

“Also, I like it,” Richie says. “Kissing your foul, but minty little mouth.”

“With your big, foul, minty one?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “And not everything is about what you want, Prince Edward.”

When Richie unwinds his arms, Eddie lets his back stretch flat on the bed. He turns his head to watch Richie climb out of bed, their bed. He moves his head to one side and then the other, stretching his neck. Then Richie scratches his side. When he gets to the bathroom mirror, he rubs his face, itches under his nose with his forearm. Eddie can’t see everything, precisely. But he knows Richie well enough. He traces the lines of his broad body with his eyes while he brushes his teeth.

Eddie reaches down and cups his balls in one hand. He pulls the skin tight, moving them between his fingers. His other hand cups over the head of his cock. This isn’t the way he used to touch himself; this is the way Richie touches him. It’s slow and gentle, creative in a way that Eddie couldn’t have imagined for himself. 

In the bathroom, Richie leans over the sink to rinse his mouth out.

“I can see you spanking it in the reflection, you sex fiend,” Richie says.

“Yeah, and?” Eddie says. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I gotta pee,” Richie says. “So I’m just warning you.”

He turns around. From the bathroom doorway, Richie wiggles his eyebrows at him.

“But go ahead and keep at it, champ,” he says. “If you’re into that.”

Eddie takes his hand off his balls and gives Richie the finger.

“Close the door,” Eddie says. Because he’s pretty sure — the mood he’s in right now — he _will_ sit up and try to see around the corner of the doorway. If Richie lets himself be seen, Eddie’s not sure he can make himself look away.

Richie smiles at him, just fond. He closes the door.

Rolling his head back into the center of his pillow, Eddie squeezes his fist around his cock and touches himself the way he usually does. His jaw clenches. He closes his eyes. Richie spread out on the floor when Eddie comes in from work. Richie draped on the ultrasuede sectional when Eddie gets done with a run. Richie bent over the kitchen counter. Richie leaned back against the bathroom sink. Eddie’s mind flips through images like an old fashioned rolodex.

He breathes hard through his nose.

The bathroom door opens. Eddie’s eyes snap open. He turns his head.

“Did you wash your hands?” he asks.

“You didn’t hear me?” Richie asks. Richie lifts his hand to his face and drags his tongue up his palm. Eddie clenches his fist around his dick so hard it makes him wince.

“Richie,” he hisses. “That’s gross even if your hands are clean.”

“Yeah, it is,” Richie says. He wipes his hand on his chest. When he gets close, Eddie can see the hairs stuck down flat to his skin.

“My hands are clean, though,” Richie says.

“Except for the spit,” Eddie says.

“You like my spit,” Richie says, and Eddie feels like he’s going to yank his own cock off if he keeps touching it while Richie talks.

“Come here,” Eddie says, reaching out for him.

“Hey, now, I know where those hands have been,” Richie says. 

“You like my dick,” Eddie says. It’s too sharp. Eddie’s defensive and sour, but Richie grins at him as though Eddie’s said the most perfect thing imaginable.

“Yeah, baby, I do,” Richie says. He climbs into bed one knee at a time. 

Eddie sits up just enough to hook an elbow behind Richie’s neck and pull him in. He presses down onto Eddie completely. His body is big enough to cover Eddie from shoulder to shoulder and from collarbone to hips. He weighs Eddie down so that he can thrust up as hard as he wants when Richie kisses him.

Their mouths taste the same. Eddie’s tongue slides over the slick, clean enamel of Richie’s front teeth. Both their mouths are wet. Eddie thinks about Richie’s spit on his lips and getting in his mouth. He swallows.

On top of the tangled up sheets, Richie’s foot rests over Eddie’s. He kicks when Richie grinds his dick down against his thigh. Richie’s belly just above his hip is warm and firm against Eddie’s dick. He wets the skin with his pre-come. Richie is bigger than him and can easily put Eddie on his back, as he’s already proved.

But, Eddie thinks, putting his hands around Richie’s biceps as far as they’ll go, they’ve always been pretty evenly matched. Or, well, they haven’t. But Eddie doesn’t know better than to try. He never has. He fights dirty; he digs his thumbs into the tender skin of Richie’s inner arm. He twists his body as best he can. It’s not an easy motion. Richie doesn’t make it easy for him. He whines into Eddie’s mouth as Eddie thrashes under him.

When he gets Richie under him, Eddie pulls back from the kiss and pants with his mouth open. 

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s right.”

His heart pounds as hard as if he’d just run a six-minute mile.

“Got me where you want me?” Richie asks.

Eddie pushes himself up onto his hands, back arching and hips pressing down. Bhujangasana, he thinks, the cobra. His cock presses down alongside Richie’s, hard and thick. The hair around Richie’s cock is soft and long. It touches the hair at the crease of Eddie’s groin. There’s going to be a lot of friction, when Eddie moves.

“For now,” Eddie says.

Richie breathes out, a low whistle. “Jesus.”

Eddie shifts his weight onto his knees, spreads his thighs over Richie’s. He lowers to his elbows and Richie arches up to meet him. He’s graceless. He kisses Eddie like a clumsy plea. His teeth catch on Eddie’s lower lip, but they scrape his chin on the way there. 

When he presses Richie down onto the bed, Eddie feels like he’s doing him a favor. His tongue slides into the space behind Richie’s front teeth. Then he licks into the gap between his lower teeth and the inside of Richie’s cheek. He finds Richie’s slightly crooked front tooth with the tip of his tongue. Richie groans into his mouth.

Richie’s chest hair scratches gently at Eddie’s skin when he thrusts from his knees. He flexes his ass and grinds his dick down against Richie. Eddie feels his nipples get tight, sensitized by the drag of Richie’s chest hair. Richie has hair down his belly, too, that rubs against the hills and valleys of Eddie’s muscles as he moves against Richie.

Every nerve in Eddie’s body feels like a tiny crystal radio receiver tuned to the specific frequency that Richie’s skin puts out. He licks into Richie’s mouth and lets Richie nip at his tongue. His hard dick leaves a wet trail where he grinds it against Richie’s hip and belly. He’s perfectly warm, perfectly firm with just the right kind of give that Eddie can dig his fingers into and thrust his cock against. 

“I wanna fuck you,” Eddie says, into Richie’s open mouth. “Just like this.”

But he can feel Richie’s cock, so hard it feels like it’s pressing against a couple of Eddie’s organs through his skin and muscle. And he kind of wishes he could actually have it in him. He pulls back slightly, tries to catch his breath. He feels himself clench up and relax at the thought of Richie’s slick fingers and wet tongue opening him up. The way Richie could fill him up.

Sweat beads on Eddie’s forehead.

“I want you to fuck me,” Eddie says.

“I don’t know if we can do it both ways,” Richie says. “I only got one dick and one asshole, baby. And they’re kind of opposite sides.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says. “Shut _up_.”

“Okay,” Richie says.

“No, don’t shut up,” Eddie says. He blinks down at Richie, who looks as overheated and overwhelmed as Eddie feels. He probably looks it, too. His pulse pounds in the base of his cock and the back of his throat at the same time. He feels it in his hands, the way he does at the end of a hard run.

He picks up one hand and drags his thumb against the corner of Richie’s mouth. Richie turns and wraps his tongue around it. Eddie leans down and kisses him. He slips his tongue into Richie’s mouth even as he pulls on his cheek like a fish hook.

Richie moans like Eddie’s killing him.

He wants something slick and wet. He wants to squeeze his dick in somewhere tight and hot. He wants Richie, pinned under him the way he is now. He wants Richie’s tongue on his dick and on his hole and between his toes. Fuck, Eddie would let Richie put his tongue right into the shell of his ear right now. He’s so turned on his dick feels like a broken water main.

“Richie,” he says, pulling away. His thumb stays pressed to the inside of Richie’s cheek.

It means he can’t properly form the B sound when he says, “Yeah, baby?” 

He must hear it or feel it or anything, because he says, softly, “Eddie.”

And that’s clear as day.

Eddie’s cock pulses with heat.

“I want you to turn over,” Eddie says.

“You gonna fuck me?” Richie asks. 

The F isn’t quite what it could be, with Eddie’s thumb still in his mouth. Eddie strokes the smooth, slippery skin inside Richie’s cheek. Somehow there are still little knobs of scar tissue from Richie’s braces. The mouth is supposed to heal fastest. It’s supposed to heal best. Eddie reaches with his tongue up towards his gums and feels the inside of his own scar.

“I want to,” Eddie says, “but I’m not gonna last.”

He pulls his thumb out of Richie’s mouth.

“It’s alright, babe,” Richie says, “I love my one-minute man.”

Eddie bites down on his tongue to keep from laughing. For a moment, he pressed his spitty thumb against Richie’s lips. But Richie just grins and nips at him.

“I don’t think I’d last a minute,” Eddie says. “By the time I got two fingers in you, I’d be finished.”

“Fuck,” Richie says. “That’s hot.”

Eddie can’t understand why Richie thinks that at all, but he still likes hearing it. Richie huffs out two breaths and then says, “Babe, you gotta get off me so I can move.”

Eddie doesn’t get off him, but he does press up onto his hands and knees. “Yeah, alright, Rich.”

He watches the curve of Richie’s shoulder as it moves. It nearly brushes against Eddie’s chest. Because Richie is so damn _big_. Richie’s jawline is as sharply straight as the arm of his glasses. His head stays turned to one side on the pillow.

Eddie gives himself a moment to look down the slope of Richie’s back. The smooth line from his chest down to where he curves slightly out and then pinches in at the hips. Eddie thinks about every awful book club novel that compared a human body to the earth, the soil. But Richie is so much better than that. First of all, dirt is full of clostridium. Richie isn’t going to give anyone tetanus. But also, Eddie’s TDAP is very current.

As he stares at the shape of Richie’s ass, Eddie watches a droplet of his own pre-come slowly drip down onto Richie’s skin. 

“Fuck, I need the lube,” he says. 

Eddie looks around. He’d forgotten that he rolled Richie over closer to his side of the bed. At least that makes this easier, he thinks. Richie turns his head the other way. His glasses get knocked off his ear slightly. Eddie grabs the whole pump bottle.

“What are you going to do with that?” Richie asks. “Turn my ass into a slip’n’slide?”

Leaning on one hand on the bed and holding the bottle close, Eddie looks over at Richie. His glasses are pushed away from his left eye and it looks smaller than the right. Well, even smaller than it usually does. Because of the glasses. Eddie smiles at him.

“Yes,” he says.

Richie drags his forearm up the bed and gives Eddie a thumbs up. 

“Cool,” he says. 

Eddie pushes himself up onto his knees, just so he can see what he’s doing. He kneels over Richie and looks at him. Richie tucks his hand under the pillow beneath his cheek. He looks up at Eddie from the corner of his eye, which means he likely can’t see him at all. 

He runs a hand down the length of Richie’s back, starting at his left shoulder. The darker hair starts at the small of his back, but it’s short and downy there. And it’s sparse, but soft, across the curve of Richie’s ass. Eddie gropes him. He digs his fingers in.

“Yeah, baby,” Richie says. “Fuck that feels nice.”

So Eddie does it again. He’s feeling a little frantic, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do something _nice_ for Richie. He presses the heel of his hand down until Richie pushes back. That’s muscle, he thinks, and beneath it Richie’s hip bone. There’s just enough fat that Eddie can press his fingertips into the softness of it even when Richie clenches up. Pre-come runs down the length of Eddie’s cock.

Every time he uses a little pressure, he gets a glimpse of the thicker, darker hair in Richie’s crack. He runs his thumb down it. Richie spreads his thighs slightly, like an invitation.

So, Eddie spreads him open. His hand shakes as he arranges the bottle of lube so that his thumb is over the pump. 

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s going to be cold.”

“Not for long,” Richie says.

Richie’s hole is a spot of pink mostly hidden by dark hair. Eddie has to look away. 

He wants to find it and wet it with his tongue. Instead, he pushes his thumb down. Lube pours in a slightly shaky, but direct path. Eddie pushes his thumb down again. And again. 

A shiver runs up Richie’s back when Eddie aims lube between his thighs.

“Sorry,” he says, again.

“You should be,” Richie says. “Making me wait like this when you said you were gonna bust a nut real soon.”

Eddie reaches over and finds there’s no coaster to set the bottle on. He moved it to Richie’s bedside table. He sets the bottle down with a disgruntled thunk.

“My stamina improves with every shitty joke you make about my dick,” Eddie says.

“Oh good,” Richie says. “I think I’ve got enough material, you could plow me for days without coming. You know? Like that tantric shit you love.”

Eddie lowers himself slowly until he’s pressed down against Richie’s back. He shifts his hips until his dick presses into the cleft of Richie’s ass, all wet with lube. Then he reaches between their bodies and adjusts himself, pushing his cock down into the space between Richie’s thighs. 

It’s warm and everything is just as slick as Eddie made it. Richie presses his legs tight together. Eddie groans.

“Yeah, baby,” he says, against the back of Richie’s neck. “I want to do this for days.”

He takes his weight off his hands and wrists, puts it all on Richie. His bony sternum and ribs and elbows all dig into Richie’s broad back. Eddie starts to thrust, from his hips and knees. His nose is flattened against the knobby bones between Richie’s neck and shoulders.

“I could do this forever,” he says.

“Jesus, Eddie,” Richie says.

“I love your body, Rich,” Eddie says. “It feels so good. You feel so — fuck.”

He picks up speed.

“Yeah?” Richie asks. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

Once he starts moving, really _moving_ , Eddie can’t stop. It’s wet. He can hear it. He feels the thick hair between Richie’s legs; there’s not enough lube for Eddie not to feel it. The hair drags along with the push and pull of Eddie’s dick.

“You having a good time?” Richie asks. “Is it wet enough for you?”

It is. But Eddie doesn’t even take the time to tell Richie. He doesn’t even spare him the “shut up, Rich” that he deserves. Because, right now, just like this, Eddie can go as hard, as fast as he wants. And that’s all he can think about.

His thrusts get more erratic. His hips slap against Richie’s ass. He can feel his testicles bouncing with the force of his thrusts. Richie pants in time with it, because Eddie is leaning all his weight down on Richie’s ribs. 

Eddie’s cock threatens to slip out of place, because he’s arching his back so damn much. So he presses down harder. 

“Oh, fuck, Richie,” he says, shoving his hips down as hard as he can. The bed bounces from it. Sweat runs down his shoulder blades, the side of his neck. His thighs are sweating, pressed against the side of Richie’s. 

Eddie pulls back too far, or thrusts too hard. It doesn’t matter. His dick slips halfway out from between Richie’s legs. He keeps thrusting anyway. Eddie’s not sure he could stop without forcible intervention at this point. His dick slips out and Eddie thrusts it against Richie’s ass. He feels it push sideways against the curve of Richie’s buttcheek.

“Oh, fuck!” Eddie says.

Richie moves his hand out from under the pillow. His hand brushes Eddie’s elbow, where he’s digging it into Richie’s side. Then, he feels Richie’s knuckles against his hip. 

Eddie thrusts, desperate for something. He’s so close he can feel himself starting to shake from it. Richie spreads himself open, just enough, and Eddie cock slides into that space. It’s not so tight, but it’s hot and wet. Eddie imagines he can feel the head of his dick, the length of it, sliding over Richie’s hole. He has to be imagining it. Right?

“Yeah, Eddie, come on,” Richie says.

Eddie can’t catch his breath. His hands are cold. His thighs start to spasm. One leg goes stiffly straight and trembles. He’s going to come.

His hips snap down against Richie’s ass. He presses down so hard it feels like it’s going to take a crowbar to pry him off Richie after this. His open mouth finds the space between Richie’s neck and shoulder. Eddie sinks his teeth in as he comes.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Richie says. 

Eddie lifts his head. His teeth have left red indents in Richie’s pale skin. The space shines with his spit.

“Already did,” Eddie says.

“Nice,” Richie says. “I love looking like I got mauled by a beast.”

Eddie forces himself to sit up before his dick ends up glued to Richie’s asscrack with his own semen.

“A sex beast,” Richie says, and he giggles. “I’ve been ravaged, ravished, ridden hard and put away wet.”

Eddie looks down at the mess he’s left, which reaches up Richie’s lower back. Sweat mixes with semen. It _is_ really wet. Richie’s not totally wrong. But Eddie doesn’t feel like putting him away just yet.

He reaches down and gropes Richie’s ass with both hands. Eddie’s come covers his tail bone and runs down, down, down. It catches in the wet curls of Richie’s hair. But it’s easy to tell what isn’t lube, because the lube they use is clear.

Eddie brushes his thumb over a smear of his own come. He pushes it down and over Richie’s hole. 

“Shit,” Richie says.

What a _mess_ , Eddie thinks, but he can’t look away. The pink has gotten more red from friction. It tightens when Eddie touches it even lightly.

“Eds,” Richie says.

Eddie moves his knees back on the bed. He bends down for a better look. Richie has a little dip just under his tailbone and there’s come in it now. The hair on his perineum has been plastered to Richie’s skin with lube. Eddie moves his thumb around the edge of Richie’s hole, feeling the ring of muscle just under the skin. He thinks about…

Eddie leans closer. He closes his eyes.

Then, he freezes.

His stomach twists with desire and self-disgust. Spit fills the space under Eddie’s tongue. He licks his lips.

“Fuck,” he says, very softly.

He pulls back. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Rich. I just can’t.”

“What are you talking about?” Richie asks. 

Eddie looks at him. Richie looks at him with one eye that’s not pointed even vaguely near his glasses lens. He should have just taken them off. His cheeks are flushed. His ears, too.

“I wanted to,” Eddie swallows. “I wanted to lick my come off you and then, uh…”

He can’t even say it. His stomach feels sour. His face is too hot.

“You wanna eat my ass?” Richie asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “But I…”

“Hey, it’s whatever, I’m not gonna die if you don’t tongue my asshole, hot stuff,” Richie says. “But I do appreciate the thought.”

“I want to!” Eddie says. He’s not mad at Richie. He’s mad at himself. That’s probably not coming through when he says, “I want to tongue your fucking asshole! I just came all over it. Fucking hell, I should be able to just lick up a little bit of my own fucking semen.”

Richie blinks.

Eddie stops to catch his breath. He’s leaning his weight on his hands, which are still planted on Richie’s ass.

“Is it ‘cause I haven’t showered?” Richie asks.

It is a little more complicated than that, Eddie knows. He is very good at fantasizing about all the things he wants to do to Richie. He wishes he were half as good at actually doing those things.

“And you fart in your sleep,” Eddie tells him, with a sigh. 

The desired effect is immediately: Richie starts laughing. He turns his head into the pillow and almost screams with it. His whole body shakes. Eddie smiles to see it.

He stretches out over Richie’s shaking back. His forearms rest on the back of Richie’s neck and he smiles into them.

“Well, Eds, there’s only one solution,” Richie says. His voice is muffled by the pillow.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “What is it?”

“We gotta move this to the shower,” Richie says. “That’s your favorite place for butt-munching anyway.”

Eddie laughs despite himself. He can’t stop even when he bites the insides of his cheeks.

“You say the worst things to me,” Eddie tells him.

“It’s because I love you,” Richie says. Then he rolls over and knocks Eddie down onto the mattress. 

He rolls again and goes spilling over the side of the bed. Eddie looks at him, a mouthful of invectives, and is struck silent. Richie’s cock hangs heavy and hard between his legs. It’s flushed dark and almost red. He grins down at Eddie and stands there with his hands on his hips. The hair on his chest has been left in disarray from rubbing against the sheets. His bedhead looks worse than ever. The insides of his thighs shine with lube.

Eddie blinks. He swallows.

“If you changed your mind and want to stay in bed,” Richie says. “I can always sit on your face.”

Eddie’s chest goes tight. His dick twitches. Richie’s leering smile says that he’s joking, but — fuck, Eddie’s going to think about that for weeks the way he thought about “Fucking stand on my dick.”

“I’m getting up,” Eddie snaps. He pushes up on his elbows and swings his legs off the side of the bed. 

“God, your stamina is just…” Richie waves his hands. “You’re the fucking Energizer bunny if you can get it up right now.”

“Not like that,” Eddie says, stalking Richie into the bathroom so close he could lick the point of his shoulder blade. 

“Alright, but still,” Richie says. “The fact that you come and, immediately, you’re thinking about…”

Richie stops and turns around in front of the bathroom sink.

“You’re thinking about me,” Richie says. 

“Yeah, fuckface,” Eddie says. “I don’t just think about you when my dick is hard.”

Richie looks at him for a moment and smiles so sweetly that Eddie almost apologizes for calling him a fuckface. Even though he really felt like it was warranted in the moment. Richie reaches up and puts his hand on Eddie’s face. His thumb strokes the line of Eddie’s scar.

Leaning down, Richie kisses him with a soft, closed mouth. Eddie’s eyes blink shut. He opens his mouth and presses against Richie’s lips with his tongue. Richie lets Eddie barely lick his teeth before he’s pulling back.

“Alright, alright, I gotta hop in the shower real quick,” he says. He takes his glasses off and sets them on the sink counter.

Eddie shuts the bathroom door and locks it. Richie fumbles to get the shower door open. Eddie pushes him out of the way and goes to turn on the water. Before it’s as hot as Eddie would like, Richie is already moving in close.

“Fuck,” Eddie says. “I forgot to grab a clean washcloth.”

“It’s alright,” Richie says. “I can use my hands.”

Eddie hums. “Good idea.”

When Richie grabs the bar soap, Eddie takes it away from him.

“Hey!” Richie says.

Eddie grins wide enough that he hopes Richie can see it, the white of his teeth. Then he takes the soap and squeezes around Richie’s side. Richie looks over his shoulder and squints at Eddie. The spray of the shower has caught half of his hair and flattened it to his head. The other part still sticks up at weird angles.

“I didn’t say which part of that was a good idea,” Eddie points out. 

He puts a hand between Richie’s shoulders.

“Now,” Eddie says. “Assume the position.”

“Wow,” Richie says. “You’re a cop now? You’re some kind of sex _cop_? I really didn’t sign up for whatever this fantasy is.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says. “It’s just a saying. It’s a thing that people say.”

“Yeah,” Richie says. “It’s a thing cops say.”

“I’m not a sex cop,” Eddie says. “I just want to touch your butt.”

“Oh, well, alright,” Richie says. Then he leans forward and braces his hands on the shower wall. The spray hits him between the shoulders and runs hot down his back. Eddie slides his hand down Richie’s back to wet it. Then he rubs the bar of soap between his palms.

He washes Richie’s thighs, first. The water-based lube goes slick in the shower and easily washes away. Eddie moves his hands up to Richie’s back.

“Shit,” Richie says. “I thought you might… go a little faster than this.”

Eddie stops and lathers his hands again. Richie hisses at the lack of contact. Eddie presses up against his back when he puts his fingers against Richie’s tailbone.

“I already told you,” Eddie says, his chin on Richie’s shoulder. “I like to take my time with you, Richie.”

Richie’s arms shake.

Eddie rubs soap against the curls of hair in Richie’s crack. He reaches out and sets the soap back into the soap tray. His other hand reaches around in front of Richie. He strokes Richie’s hard dick just once. Then he soaps up Richie’s balls, which are covered in lube, and behind them.

“Fuck,” Richie says, very articulately.

At Richie’s hole, he doesn’t quite press into him. He just teases the rim with his fingertips. He feels every little wrinkle, massaging the smooth skin around the edge before the hair starts. The tight muscle relaxes, either from Eddie’s touch or because Richie’s good at consciously doing that. He could push further. 

Against his chest, he can feel Richie breathing hard.

“Go for it,” Richie says. “If you want.”

Eddie presses the fingers of his other hands hard against Richie’s perineum, instead. Richie’s whole body twitches.

“Fuck,” he says. “I thought you were gonna finger my ass, not my gooch.”

“Excuse me, your _gooch_?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, my gooch, Eds,” Richie says. “You know, like a cooch, but for guys.”

“That is not a word,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, but it is a thing and you’re touching it,” Richie says.

Eddie presses harder and Richie bites down on another curse. 

“Alright,” Eddie says. “You gotta rinse off. And then, I think, we should turn off the shower.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks. 

Reluctantly, Eddie starts to take his hands off Richie and unwind his arms from around his body.

“Yeah,” he says.

Richie stands up and steps back so he’s very directly in the shower spray. Eddie touches his back, because it’s there. But his hands wander down, down, down. He’s touching Richie’s hole again by the time Richie has to turn around. Richie leans on him when he bends forward.

He breathes hard just a couple inches from Eddie’s ear. The sound is enough to make Eddie’s dick jerk to the left. His muscles clench just to hear it.

Eddie shakes his head slightly to clear it when Richie stands up again. Eddie crowds him to reach the handle of the faucet. He pushes it down and the shower sputters to a stop.

“Alright, since you didn’t like my word choice the last time,” Eddie says. “Rich, I need you to bend over.”

Richie looks at him, clearly aiming for eye contact. Eddie gives it to him. He’s smirking.

“Why?” Richie asks.

Eddie reaches down and grabs a fistful of Richie’s pubic hair.

“Because I’m going to lick your asshole until you come,” Eddie says.

“Oh fuck,” Richie says. “I just thought you were going to say, ‘because I said so.’”

Eddie lets him go so that he can turn around, and he says, “Shit, Eds, what the _fuck_.”

“Why ‘what the fuck,’” Eddie says. “It’s what I said I wanted to do.”

“Well, fine, you just… You do what you want to do, Eddie, baby.”

“I will!” Eddie says, before he goes to his knees.

“Eddie,” Richie says.

“Come on, Richie,” Eddie says. He presses his hand to the small of Richie’s back. He bends even further this time, putting his forearms and elbows against the wall. His head bows.

Eddie moves his hands to Richie’s ass. He presses the heels of his hands under the curve of Richie’s glutes and spreads him open with his thumbs. 

He doesn’t look for long. It’s just an asshole — pink, almost red, and puckered. He moves his right thumb up and over it. Richie goes tense. The movement of muscle and the pull of skin is fascinating, in a strangely removed way. Eddie thinks it looks nice, for an asshole, the way that Richie’s dick looks good, for a dick. Right now, Richie’s hole looks clean and wet.

There is something unhealthy, he thinks, to the way he wants to make Richie clean. Probably something unhealthy to the way he felt seeing his semen here and wanting to push it into Richie with his tongue. He’s not going to be disappointed that it’s all been rinsed down the drain. He can hold these thoughts and many others: this is disgusting and he is disgusting for wanting it; nothing about Richie has ever disgusted him, not really, no matter how hard he tries; he wants to hear Richie’s moans echo off the shower tiles.

Eddie leans in and drags his tongue up from the seam of Richie’s perineum to his tailbone.

“Ah, shit,” Richie says. With the water off, Eddie can hear the sound of his own wet mouth. He can also hear the way Richie’s breathing grows loud and ragged.

He tastes shower water, mostly. But he feels Richie’s damp body hair sticking to his chin and dragging against the corners of his mouth. 

He presses the flat of his tongue hard against Richie’s hole, because there’s a little give. He can push bluntly like this and it’s different than pushing the point of his tongue into him. He can feel the hard knot of muscle flex. Richie groans loudly.

Eddie’s nose flattens against the broader part of Richie’s tailbone. Coccyx, he thinks. Great word for Scrabble and crosswords.

“Fuck, Eddie, I can’t handle this,” Richie says. “Can I —”

Richie chokes when he tries to speak. Eddie moves the point of his tongue in a circle, along the smooth and tender skin that surrounds the muscle. Hair catches on his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, can I —”

Eddie pushes his tongue hard against Richie, almost hard enough to get into him. But Richie’s not expecting it, so he clenches up hard. 

“Fuck!” Richie shouts. His hips jerk forward. Eddie digs his fingers into Richie’s ass trying to hold him in place.

“Can I jerk off?” Richie asks. “Or are you going to kill me first?”

Eddie goes back to the more gentle movement of stroking his tongue over Richie’s hole. It makes him feel like a cat, for some reason. Well, that wouldn’t be great, would it? Don’t cats have barbs on their tongues? Or is that dicks?

He moves his hands to Richie’s hip bones, holding him with the left and then blindly groping for Richie’s cock with the right. His fingers comb through the hair on Richie’s pubic bone. His thumb curves over the base of Richie’s cock. His fingers follow, curling around from below.

“Eddie,” Richie says. 

The pitch of his voice cracks off the tile and rattles around inside Eddie’s ears. He almost wants to touch his own cock, even though all he would get is a sharp ache. He squeezes his fist around Richie’s instead.

“Shit, you fucking maniac,” Richie says. “I love you. I don’t even — how the fuck —”

Eddie would grin with pride at rendering Richie speechless, but his mouth is busy. He makes his tongue more of a point as he strokes it over Richie. The little knot softens, so that Eddie’s tongue catches on it more. He could press in easily now.

“Holy fuck,” Richie says. 

Eddie feels like he’s pulling Richie back against his face with every stroke of his hand. He’s not fucking him with his tongue, because he doesn’t even need to. 

Richie moans. In bed, it would be small and muffled into a pillow. In the shower, it bounces off glass and metal and tile. Richie’s every little sound echoes. Eddie feels hot all over. His cock starts to get hard, in a way that aches a little.

“Eddie,” Richie says. His voice breaks. “Eddie.”

Eddie feels it when Richie comes. His hole tenses up in pulses. Once, and Richie’s thighs jerk. Twice, and Eddie reaches up to cup his fingers over the head of his dick. Richie’s semen fills the curve of his palm. Three times. Four times. Richie makes a sound like he’s crying or about to cry. Five times. He starts shaking.

In the moment he comes, Richie’s cock stands up so stiffly. It feels painfully hard. Eddie keeps touching him as he gets soft. He rubs Richie’s come up and down the length of his cock while it’s still thick. He keeps licking him, too, because this is when Richie is most sensitive.

“Shit,” Richie says. “Please.”

He pops the “p” in the word.

Eddie pulls back. He holds Richie by the hips. He has a full two seconds to look up at Richie’s hunched shoulders before Richie’s knees buckle and he comes down nearly as hard as he did last night in the foyer. But this time, Eddie is there to catch him. Richie’s wet back plasters against Eddie’s chest. He can’t help but laugh. Richie looks up at him, squinting. Most of his hair is stuck down flat to his scalp, but a few curls have dried enough to escape. Richie grins up at him.

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” Richie says. “And not just because the sex is good.”

“But the sex is good?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “It’s really, really good.”

He turns himself around in Eddie’s arms. Eddie takes Richie’s weight on his forearms as Richie pulls himself up to kneeling. 

“I’d even say it’s great,” Richie says. He moves his hands up Eddie’s arms, his shoulders, his neck, until he’s got Eddie’s face in his hands. He looks like a waterlogged muskrat. But also, looking into Richie’s eyes, while the skin around them is creased from the force of his smile, makes Eddie feel like he’s got soda pop in his veins. Richie is nearly winking his left eye from the force of all the happiness coming out of his face. There are carbonated bubbles of sugar in Eddie’s heart.

Then Richie leans in.

“Wait,” Eddie manages to say. He tries to push Richie away or turn his face, but all he really does is put his hands on Richie’s chest and close his eyes.

Richie kisses him.

It is not a quick, brief kiss. Richie doesn’t have the decency to keep his tongue in his mouth. Eddie tries very hard to keep his lips shut tight. They both know exactly where Eddie’s mouth has been!

Richie pulls back.

“What the fuck?!” Eddie says. “It’s like you want to get E. coli.”

Richie dives in and licks Eddie’s chin and lower lip. Eddie’s fingers dig into Richie’s chest. His whole body tenses up. He feels hot and cold with anger and anxiety and, worst of all, arousal. Richie just laughs.

“Babe, I would love to get E. coli from you.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says. He shuts his mouth tight, but his lips tremble with laugher.

Richie grins at him.

“Well, alright, I gotta rinse off and I guess we have to brush our teeth before we can make out,” Richie says.

“You want to?” Eddie asks.

“Make out?” Richie asks.

“Well, I was going to go for a run,” Eddie says. “And then, I’ve still got to get ready for work and I don’t even know what time it is right now. So I’m not sure…”

He looks at Richie’s eyes, which are so close to his that he absolutely can’t see shit.

“But, yeah,” Eddie says. “I want to make out with you.”

When Eddie gets to his feet, his knees feel numb. He’s stiff and uncomfortable walking to the sink. Richie closes the shower door and turns on the water. He shrieks.

“It’s cold! Fuck, it’s cold!” he shouts.

Eddie shakes with quiet laughter as he takes the Listerine out of the medicine cabinet. It’s antiseptic tasting, an alcoholic burn that shouldn’t be comforting. But there’s no good in feeling bad that it does comfort him. He counts to thirty in his head and then spits. Eddie thinks about his tongue scraper that he threw out because his dentist told him he was going to damage his taste buds. He does a second round of Listerine instead, tipping his head back and gargling.

Richie climbs out of the shower and misses his towel the first time. Eddie watches him dry his hair off first. The curls, half-damp, stick out in every direction while Richie dries his face.

Eddie wets his toothbrush.

Richie dries himself off and then hangs his towel up. He grabs his glasses off the sink counter and looks at Eddie, who is dripping water on the bathroom floor and has toothpaste running down his chin.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Richie says.

Eddie’s toothbrush buzzes and then turns off. He spits into the sink.

“Hey,” he says. He leans his hip against the counter as he reaches for the stainless steel cup.

Richie bends down until his elbows rest on the sink. He puts his chin in his hands and gazes up at Eddie. Eddie has to look away for a moment when he fills the cup, but he tries to keep his eyes locked on Richie’s as serious as a staring contest.

“Want me to brush my teeth, too?” Richie asks.

Eddie swishes water around in his mouth. He spits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Eddie asks. “First, you don’t want to fuck until we’ve both brushed our teeth and then you try to makeout with me while I’ve still got ass breath —”

Richie barks with laughter.

“— and _now_ you’re asking me if you should brush your teeth again?” 

“Eddie ‘Ass Breath’ Kaspbrak,” Richie wheezes. “That would have slayed when we were sixteen.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says. He moves to get his towel. He starts with his face and mouth. 

“I was serious,” he says, toweling off. “What was that all about anyway?”

Richie shrugs his shoulders, which has the effect of squishing his hands against his cheeks. His thumbs somehow rest against his collarbone.

“It was like the shower thing,” Richie says.

“What shower thing?” Eddie asks.

“Well, like, yeah, we can lick each other’s tonsils when we’ve got morning breath, but it’s gonna gross you out after awhile and I genuinely might forget to brush my teeth afterwards. And you can want to suck the jizz out of my asshole or whatever freaky snowballing shit you were thinking about.”

Oh, that’s definitely going to come back to Eddie whenever he’s bored and a little horny.

“But,” Richie says, “I want you to enjoy yourself if you’re going to do it. You know? No regrets.”

“I don’t regret anything we do,” Eddie says.

“Oh yeah?” Richie asks. He grins like a villain. His eyes are huge and bright behind his glasses. Eddie could count his teeth easier than he could count the wrinkles on his forehead when he wiggles his eyebrows.

“I don’t regret anything we do in a sexual or romantic context,” Eddie corrects. “Do not make me list my various other regrets when I want to go cuddle in bed.”

“We can cuddle?” Richie asks. He stands up straight and his expression morphs from shark to puppy dog.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, hanging up his towel. “Let’s go cuddle.”

Fuck, he’s going to have to do so much laundry.

“Actually,” he says, “can we change the sheets first?”

Richie laughs at him until Eddie elbows him in the gut, but he shakes the pillows out of their pillowcases and takes all the sheets that Eddie roughly folds up in his giant arms. When they get to the washer he leans against the wall of what used to be Eddie’s room. Eddie measures out detergent and bleach solution. They’re both still buck-ass-naked. 

“I like, uh,” Eddie stops.

“Doing laundry?” Richie asks. “I mean, I knew that, but you can tell me if it’s like a _thing_ for you.”

“Goddamnit, Richie,” Eddie says. “I wanted to say, I like seeing you naked in the apartment.”

“Our apartment,” he adds.

Richie blinks. “I mean, where else am I allowed to be naked?”

“Fair point,” Eddie says. “I’m just telling you.”

He clenches and unclenches his jaw. “I like it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Richie says.

The washing machine starts to fill with water. Soon, it will be churning. They’ve still got to put fresh sheets on the bed.

“Is that why you’re always walking around in the raw?” Richie asks. “Was it a hint?”

“No,” Eddie says. “It was a free show.”

Richie laughs so hard the fitted sheet slips out of his hand and snaps halfway up the mattress. He swears and scrambles after it. His body stretches out over the bed, long arms and smooth back. Eddie has to look away and find the topsheet. Richie lifts the mattress for him, so he can fold perfect hospital corners. They drape a knit blanket over the top and get to stuffing all their pillows into pillowcases.

“No,” Eddie says, reaching across the bed to try to take a pillowcase out of Richie’s hands. “That one’s mine.”

“How can you even tell?” Richie asks. “They’re all white and cotton.”

“The ones for the memory foam pillow are smaller,” Eddie says. “You’re trying to shove your pillow into it and it’s gonna get all stretched out.”

Richie smirks at him.

“Wouldn’t be the only thing getting stretched out on this bed,” he says, even while Eddie frowns at him.

“Not your best work,” Eddie tells him.

“Should I have been more explicit that I meant your asshole?” Richie asks. “Because I thought the ambiguity was kind of good. Like maybe I meant some yoga shit.”

“You know when I said, ‘Don’t make me list my regrets’? I’m adding some right now,” Eddie tells him.

Richie hands him the pillowcase with a smile. Eddie bows his head so that Richie won’t see him grinning to himself while he yanks the pillowcase over his pillow.

Richie flops down onto the bed belly-first. The bedframe jolts to one side. Eddie climbs up on his hands and knees. He puts a palm between Richie’s shoulders and bends down to press his mouth to Richie’s cheek.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie says. Eddie moves up to kiss Richie’s temple. He still smells like Eddie’s shampoo.

“How does your scalp feel?” he asks.

Richie squints at him.

“Like a scalp?” Richie says. “I think?” He reaches up and scratches the back of his head.

Eddie moves his hand from Richie’s back to run his fingers through the curls at the nape of Richie’s neck.

“Not, like, tight or anything?” Eddie asks.

“Nope,” Richie says, popping the “p.”

“Alright,” Eddie says. “Good.”

He plants a kiss on the corner of Richie’s unshaven jaw before he lies down on his side. Richie turns over onto his shoulder. His glasses are crooked, because he’s laying his head on the pillow.

Eddie brushes a curl off Richie’s forehead. It falls right back as soon as he moves his hand. He pets Richie’s sideburn with his fingertips. The edge between long stubble and real grown out hair has a texture that Eddie can’t stop touching. Little sparks run down his forearm and into his chest.

Richie drapes his arm over Eddie’s ribs. His hand presses against Eddie’s back and pulls them closer together. Eddie tilts his chin. Richie tips his face to the side. The ends of their noses brush. Their lips meet. Richie’s tongue is wet sliding into his mouth.

Eddie ought to set an alarm. He should check the time. He would be smart to think about all the things he has to do before work and how long all those will take. Instead, he moves his hand to the back of Richie’s neck.

Richie’s other hand creeps into the space between their bodies. He pinches Eddie’s nipple. Eddie bites Richie’s lower lip. Richie rolls the point of Eddie’s nipple between his forefinger and thumb. The heel of his hand rests hot against Eddie’s chest. Eddie squeezes the back of Richie’s neck. He pushes his tongue deep into Richie’s mouth, as deep as he can. 

When Eddie pushes, Richie goes onto his back. Eddie lies on top of him. Their chins press together. Richie’s fingers spread out to find the grooves between Eddie’s ribs. His arm is almost completely around Eddie.

Eddie pulls back, panting. He looks to the clock on his bedside table. Richie follows his gaze.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Fuck it,” Eddie says. “I’ll wait another hour and then call out for the morning.”

Richie’s eyes are wide when he looks down.

“You don’t have to do that, Eds,” he says, as though Eddie’s not being incredibly selfish. As though Richie has somehow seduced him into slacking. As though Eddie isn’t the one who talked Richie into going to bed early and waking up before five just so Eddie could rub his dick all over him.

“It’s my PTO,” Eddie says. “And I can use it however I want, Rich.”

“Yeah, but,” Richie starts to say. So Eddie kisses him. He presses his mouth hard down on Richie’s lips, then his chin, then his jaw. He finds the tender skin under under Richie’s jawbone and catches it between his teeth.

“Fuck, alright,” Richie says. “Use it.”

Eddie pulls back and licks his lips.

“I think I need that hour before I can go again,” Eddie tells him.

“Think I’m gonna need like three hours,” Richie says.

“Well, I was going to go for a run,” Eddie says. “And we could have breakfast.”

“I can make pancakes,” Richie says. 

Eddie kisses his throat, softly. “I’d like that.”

He kisses his way down to Richie’s shoulder. It feels like the love inside him is seeping out of his skin and, hopefully, down into Richie’s. 

“Can I fuck around with your hair?” Richie asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

Richie’s hand covers the back of his head. He’s so warm. His blunt nails scratch Eddie’s scalp. Eddie closes his eyes.

“Hey, Richie,” he says, when it feels like all the knots in his shoulders have untied simply through the machinations of Richie’s fingers in his hair.

“Yeah?” Richie asks.

“You deduct your charitable donations on your taxes, right?” Eddie asks.

Richie’s chest shakes underneath him. “I mean, yeah, but what the hell kind of question is that.”

“It’s about work,” Eddie says. “How do you decide where you’re going to give money?”

“I mean,” Richie says. “I just give people money when I feel like it. I’ve got too much, and I reinvest my dividend income, so it’s not taxed. Lately, I’ve been using my secret twitter account to find GoFundMe’s for, like, uh, kids trying to get surgery and shit. But that’s not tax deductible, I think.”

Eddie hums.

“It’s just the good thing to do,” he says.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “I guess.”

Eddie licks his lips and presses a wet kiss to Richie’s skin.

“You’re a good guy, Rich,” he says.

Richie blows a raspberry. “Remember that article in the New York Times’ Opinion section? ‘Richard Tozier’s comedy routines have, for the last decade, made a punchline of being anything other than straight, white, and male.’ And then it turned out Bev’s friend wrote that.”

Eddie tries to lift his head, but Richie’s hand feels too heavy for him to move.

“Was that a real quote?” he asks. “Did you memorize Kay’s column about you?”

“I mean, it wasn’t just about me,” Richie says. “She also talked about Kevin Spacey and Louis C.K.”

“Jesus Christ, Richie,” Eddie says.

His hand slides off Richie’s chest and he pushes himself up. It feels like the hardest thing he’s going to do all day, but he wants to look Richie in the eye right now.

“You’re a good person, Richard Tozier,” he says.

“I mean, look who’s talking,” Richie says.

“Oh, shut up!” Eddie says. “I’m a good person, too!”

He collapses hard down on Richie, just to hear the sound he makes — like a busted couch given human life.

“Or, whatever, maybe we aren’t,” Eddie says. “Stan almost fainted when I told him I was working deals in MBSes in ‘06.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Richie says. “Still. And do not explain it to me.”

“I won’t,” Eddie says.

“Thanks,” Richie says.

Eddie kisses Richie’s cheek. Richie turns his face and kisses his mouth. Eddie’s tongue traces Richie’s upper lip. They kiss, slow and drawn out, until Eddie’s lower lip and chin sting from rubbing against Richie’s face. He pulls away and checks the time.

“I think I’m going to get dressed,” he says.

Richie sighs. “Alright, if you have to.”

Eddie leans down and kisses him once more before he climbs out of bed. The warmth of Richie’s fingertips lingers on his skin. He gets dressed in the clothes he left out last night, starting with his socks.

Richie sits up in bed and watches him. His hands rest on his bare thighs. His stomach folds in soft sections from the curve of his back. Eddie pulls on his UnderArmor boxers that he knows Richie does not know are underwear. They’re black and stick out the bottom of his running shorts.

“I should put on sunblock,” Eddie says. 

He disappears into the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

“You need help with that?” Richie yells. He has definitely not gotten out of bed, Eddie thinks.

But then he comes out of the bathroom, smelling sort of like coconuts, and Richie has put on a pair of light blue chinos. His white t-shirt has Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner facing off, and Richie has it tucked into his waistband.

Eddie swallows. Richie pulls a dark blue button-up over his shoulders and lets it hang open.

“That looks good,” Eddie says.

“Thanks,” Richie says. “Figured if you’re taking the day off for me, I could at least look nice.”

“I’m not taking the day off for you,” Eddie says. “I’m taking the day off for _me_.”

“Oh,” Richie says. “Well, then, all the more reason to look nice for _you_.”

He winks at Eddie with his left eye. It kind of works.

“I love you,” Eddie blurts out. 

Richie’s eyelids crease up when he smiles. “Love you, too, tiger.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheeks, but Richie’s smile only grows. 

“I have to call Sushmitha,” he says, and heads out the bedroom door.

His phone and Richie’s are both charging in the kitchen where he left them. Eddie unplugs his and swipes in his passcode. It’s still early, so he selects “Sushmitha Roche (mobile).”

When she answers, she sounds half asleep. “This is Sushmitha Roche. How can I help you?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Roche,” Eddie says. “This is Edward Kaspbrak.”

“Mr. Kaspbrak!” she says. Her tone brightens. “Wow! You’re an early riser.”

Eddie laughs dryly. “Not really, ma’am.”

“Well, you’re earlier than I am,” she says. “How can I help you?”

“I would like to come into the office later today, if that’s possible,” Eddie says. “It’s short notice, I know, but I should have the time available.”

“Mr. Kaspbrak,” she says, “I don’t see why you should have to take time off.”

“Ah,” Eddie says. His heart sinks. Richie walks through the living room humming something upbeat and taking a double step every other step, like he’s about to start ballroom dancing across the hardwood. Eddie’s chest squeezes tight.

“I mean, yesterday, you were in the office before nine and you didn’t go home before the event,” Sushmitha says. “I know you’re used to a salaried position, but we don’t ask our contractors to work these kinds of hours.”

Eddie blinks a few times. He almost shakes his head. 

“Oh, sweet!” Richie says, somewhere behind him. “More coffee!”

“It was a late night for both of us,” Sushmitha says. “There’s really nothing urgent coming up this week, so I think you could take a flex day today if you’d like.”

Over the phone, Eddie hears what he thinks might be her muffling a yawn with her hand. He has to clench his jaw to keep from yawning himself.

“Thank you, Mrs. Roche,” he says. “That’s very understanding of you.”

“Of course!” she says. “You were really impressive last night, Mr. Kaspbrak. You bring a lot of energy to our team and I —”

This time she yawns loudly.

“I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Kaspbrak,” she says. “It’s still early for me. My wife and I had a bit of a late night last night.”

“I understand, Mrs. Roche,” he says.

“Thank you,” she says. “Really, thank you. And enjoy your day off!”

“I will,” Eddie says, turning around to look at Richie. He stands there with a new coffee mug in his hands blowing into it.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Sushmitha asks.

“Actually,” Eddie says. “I wanted to apologize for some of my comments to you last night.”

“Oh?” Sushmitha asks. “I don’t really remember anything you’d have to apologize for, Mr. Kaspbrak. It’s fine, really.”

“Well, I disagree,” Eddie says. “You have a lot of experience in this field, Mrs. Roche, and I respect the work that you do. I’m just... A numbers guy, really.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sushmitha insists, so Eddie politely pauses for her. “You’re newer to the field, but you’ve got a lot of passion. And you’re definitely experienced in what you do.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says. “But I was discussing things with my partner —”

“Ooh,” Richie says. “Who’s your partner, Eds? Do I know ‘em?”

Eddie flips Richie off. “— And I realized that our investors might care about the numbers, but they care more about what those numbers mean. They’re not doing this for a tax write-off. Well, they’re not _just_ doing this for a tax write-off.”

Sushmitha laughs, also dryly.

“The people care about the effectiveness of charities because they want to do the most good that they can,” Eddie explains. “And that’s about more than just numbers.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kaspbrak,” Sushmitha tells him. And this time, she sounds like she really means it.

“That sort of passion is the reason I’m glad I hired you,” she says. 

“I’m glad to be working with you,” Eddie says, and finds he probably means that.

“See you tomorrow?” Sushmitha asks, as a closing mark.

“Yes,” Eddie says. “But don’t hesitate to call if you need me today.”

“I’ll definitely hesitate,” she says. “But thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Kaspbrak!”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Roche,” he says. 

She hangs up first. Eddie lets out a sigh and leans against the kitchen counter.

“Your partner, huh?” Richie says. He opens the refrigerator. Eddie feels lightheaded to notice that he’s a few inches taller than the door and nearly as wide.

Richie takes out the Brita pitcher and pours a glass of water.

“For my _partner_ ,” Richie says, offering it to him.

“Shut up,” Eddie mutters against the lip of the glass. He drinks the whole thing. Richie just stands there, looking at him and sipping his coffee.

“So,” Richie says, waiting for Eddie to finish his water, “what’s the status on the work front?”

Eddie sets the empty glass on the counter with a self-satisfied clink.

“I’m taking the whole fucking day,” Eddie says, with a grin. 

“Fuck yes!” Richie cheers. He throws both arms up in the air.

Holy fuck, he’s enormous, Eddie thinks. So, he tackles Richie around the middle and drives him up against the kitchen sink. Richie starts laughing. Eddie kisses him.

“Alright, alright,” Eddie says. “I’m going to go for a run.”

“Have a good one?” Richie says. “A fast one? I don’t really know what you say to people who voluntarily run for no reason.”

“‘Have a good one’ works,” Eddie advises him.

Richie leans forward and steals another kiss. He smells like coffee breath, sour. Eddie is so excited to spend the entire day — a weekday, no less — with Richie that he needs to go run right now or he’s going to start climbing the walls. Or Richie.

Eddie slips his feet into his unlaced running shoes. He pulls the laces snug. He takes the stairs like it’s his warm up and is jogging before he’s even out the door of their building. It’s later than he usually runs, and hotter. Sweat forms under his arms and on the back of his neck. 

His feet are not light. His knees hurt on every toe strike. But Eddie feels… He feels ebullient. Or some other high scoring Scrabble word. His aching joints and ribs are just a reminder that he is real and alive. 

Sunlight weighs down on Eddie’s head. He runs his hands through his sweaty hair to get it out of his eyes. The sweat gathers on his brow and runs down the length of his nose. It stings in his tear ducts.

His lungs hurt. They _burn_.

His heart is an overheated catalytic converter, burning red-hot in his chest. 

Eddie stutters to a stop in the park. His heel skids on gravel. He leans over with his sweaty hands on his knees. His pulse throbs in the back of his throat. His vision goes slightly grey around the edges.

“I’m dying,” Eddie says. “Again.”

Then he stands up and puts his hands on the top of his head. He’s boiling hot. His scalp could turn his sweat into steam. Actually, that used to happen in winter, he remembers. Water vapor would rise off his forearms and out of his hair after a run, because he was so hot and Maine was _so_ fucking cold.

Eddie breathes in. He breathes out. He’s hyperventilating.

His legs feel filled with wet sand. His whole torso feels like it’s on fire.

It’s funny, Eddie thinks. Now he’s got real breathing problems — down half a lung compared to most of the population — and he’s out here voluntarily running for no reason.

“It’s fun,” Eddie says, feeling slightly less like he’s made of wet cement and busted car parts. He can breathe without pain.

So, he gets jogging again. He can get another ten minutes, he thinks. His little break doesn’t count. Eddie takes it easy, or at least easier, as he loops around the walking path once again. Sweat drips from his hair down the collar of his shirt. He’s heavy and hot, but not so heavy or so hot that he can’t think. And when he runs (jogs) and thinks, he thinks about what he’s running (jogging) towards.

He thinks about Richie with an apron tied over his nice shirt and nice pants. This is an obvious fantasy; Richie never remembers to use an apron. He thinks about Richie who wants to look nice for him. That is not a fantasy. That’s what Richie _said_ to him.

Richie wants to look nice for him and make him pancakes and Eddie’s going to spend the whole day with him.

“Fuck it!” Eddie announces to the whole park. He turns sharply and cuts across the grass toward the park entrance. 

He even runs up the stairs to their apartment, though it makes his ribs hurt. The doorknob of their apartment slips in his sweaty hand as he unlocks it.

“Shit,” Eddie says. His keys slip and dangle from the little tie that connects them to his running shorts.

The inside of the apartment is air-conditioning cool. Eddie sighs. He unties his keys and drops them in the basket. Then he reaches down to touch his toes. Something in his back pops.

“Welcome back, oh partner, my partner,” Richie says. He comes around the corner in just his t-shirt. There’s flour or something on his thigh, like he wiped his hand on his pants.

Eddie straightens up and lifts his foot to stretch out his quad.

“Are you going to let that go any time soon?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Richie says, with a big, honest grin.

Eddie switches feet. Richie heads toward him, and he’s already got a spike of something hot in his guts. Eddie clenches his hand until the stitching and laces of his shoe dig into his palm.

“God, you look good,” Richie says. “I mean, like you always look good… But I probably don’t say it enough.”

“You say it a lot,” Eddie tells him.

“Can I do something kinda gross?” Richie asks.

Eddie drops his foot. He shrugs. “Yeah, sure, why not?” 

It’s not yet eight in the morning and Eddie has already tapped out on gross and stupid things he can do. He’s got nine to twelve hours to spend with Richie. It’s bound to get grosser and stupider. Eddie holds his hands out at his sides awkwardly, his palms turned to face Richie.

Richie steps in close and puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He leans his head to the side and bows his shoulders. Eddie feels his breath on his sweaty neck. Then, Richie licks the side of his throat.

Eddie recoils. His shoulders shoot up to his ears and he feels himself gagging. Richie laughs and drags the flat of his tongue up Eddie’s cheek.

“Oh fuck, that is gross,” Eddie says.

“Ay toldja so,” Richie teases. “An’ Ay a’ways keep mah promises.”

“What the fuck is that accent?” Eddie says. He rubs his face against his shoulder.

When he looks at him, Richie licks his lips.

“Hick?” Richie says. “Not sure, really. These things just come out of me, like a gift.”

“Yeah, well, shit comes out of you, too,” Eddie tells him. “And that’s not a gift.”

Richie laughs and Eddie can’t help but smile. He’s always a little proud of himself when he makes Richie laugh, even though it’s easy. That’s also how he feels when he makes Richie come, he realizes. Then he has to push Richie away from him.

“I’m going to go shower,” he says.

“Alright,” Richie says.

Richie steps back so that Eddie can kneel down and untie his shoes. He looks up just once and finds Richie looking down at him. Eddie knows he’s level with Richie’s belt loops. He shoves his running shoes into their spot on the shoe rack and steps around Richie.

“Have fun!” Richie says. “Don’t drown!”

When Eddie looks over his shoulder, Richie is standing by the shoe rack with his fingertips against his mouth. Eddie shuts the bedroom door between them, for his own sake.

Eddie finishes stretching in the bathroom, peeling his socks off and feeling the cold tile under the soles of his feet. The pull in his hamstrings and calves as he bends into a runner’s stretch distracts him for at least twenty seconds. Then he undresses. He has to pee before he showers, or he’ll pee in the shower. And then he’s got to wash his hands, even though he’s about to get in the shower. His sweaty running clothes are left folded on the sink counter. 

He washes his hair, his face, his armpits. Eddie scrubs the inside of his thighs with a washcloth and works his way down to the spaces in between his toes. It feels good. The water is so hot it makes his skin flush. He gets a little dizzy.

The bathroom mirror is opaque with condensation when he finishes. Eddie towels off and doesn’t have to see himself, a boiled tomato with a collection of surgical scars. He blindly combs his wet hair and then unlocks the bathroom door.

Eddie doesn’t have to wear work clothes, so he grabs a pair of old nylon shorts and a grey t-shirt. Then, he thinks better of it, and goes back for a polo shirt and a pair of jeans. He spends a solid minute trying to remember which of his five different pairs of denim jeans Richie once put his hands down the waistband of. 

Then he has to find his “peach” polo shirt, because, well, Richie likes warm colors. Also this one is newer and fits a little tighter. The seams for the sleeves actually line up with his shoulders and it makes him look like he’s actually got definition in his pecs.

It’s so tight, actually, that pulling it on fucks up Eddie’s hair. He doesn’t fix it.

In the kitchen, Richie is staring intently down at a pan. Eddie assumes that there is a pancake in it. He also assumes that the plate shrouded with tinfoil is probably pancakes. There’s another plate with oil-soaked paper towels by the stove. Eddie sneaks over to see if it’s got bacon.

“Hey, babe,” Richie says.

Then, he says, “Whoa!”

The plate has bacon. Eddie breaks off the end of a piece and pops it in his mouth.

“What?” he says. Salt and fat explode across his taste buds. But there’s a sweet-spiciness.

“Is this the maple bacon with the black pepper?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says. He stares at Eddie while he chews.

“Fucking shit,” Eddie says. “This stuff is so good. Like, I know it’s full of nitrates and it’s completely carcinogenic. Don’t argue with me on that, the research is well established. Processed meats are absolutely linked to colorectal cancer. This is going to give me ass cancer, but it’s so fucking worth it.”

“Okay,” Richie says. 

Eddie squints at him. Then he takes the whole piece of bacon.

“Are you alright?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says.

“Cause I just said the words ‘ass cancer’ and you didn’t even react,” he says.

Richie clears his throat.

“Ah, shit,” he says, and grabs the frying pan. He jostles it back and forth to loosen the pancake, then does the thing Eddie can never quite catch or replicate. It’s just that it makes this one muscle in Richie’s forearm do something. And the vein that runs up the full length of his arm from his wrist moves with it. 

The perfectly flipped pancake is black around the edges.

“Well,” Richie says. “I’ll just eat that one.”

Eddie chews on his bacon.

“You ever get tired of being so fucking hot all the time, Eds?” Richie says. “Oh, ha, bacon and Eds. Two best things to put in my mouth in the morning.”

Eddie moves in close so he can shove at Richie with his shoulder. “I don’t know, do you ever get tired of it?”

“Oh hell no,” Richie says. “I am never going to get tired of your hotness. No way, no how.”

“I meant do _you_ ever get tired of being hot all the time, dickwad,” Eddie says. “But… thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Richie says. “And, eh, you know what? I’m just thankful if you think I’m hot all the time. Like, truly, ready to get down on my knees and give thanks for that any time.”

Eddie swallows. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

And then, even though his fingers are greasy from the bacon, he puts his arm around Richie’s back. Richie picks up the pan and flips the pancake again. This side isn’t burned, so Richie reaches over and lifts the foil. He tips the half-charred pancake out onto the pile he’s made.

“I think that’s enough,” Eddie says.

“I’ve got enough batter for, like, two more,” Richie says.

“Well,” Eddie says. “Alright.”

And Richie doesn’t move too far away even as he throws another chunk of butter into the hot pan. Eddie’s fingers might move. Eddie might have to move himself. But he keeps his arm around Richie for those two little pancakes. He’s got front row seats, he thinks. Or not even the front row. He’s watching this pancake show from the orchestra pit. He’s making himself a part of it.

“I should wash these,” Eddie says, but he doesn’t move.

“Eh,” Richie says. “It’ll wait.”

He turns and slings an arm over Eddie’s shoulders. “Let’s eat all this before it gets any colder!”

Eddie still doesn’t want to let go, not even for bacon and pancakes. He presses himself against Richie’s side. His ear tucks into the space between Richie’s neck and shoulder when he turns his head. Richie’s thumb moves against the side of his arm, against bare skin. Telling Richie that he loves him feels redundant or, worse, fraudulent — writing a check from an account he knows doesn’t have the funds. But he feels it. The feeling, if not the words, fills his throat with warmth.

And Richie must feel it, more than hunger, because he stands there and lets Eddie hold him.

But, Eddie thinks, just in case. He says it. A whisper into Richie’s shoulder.

“I love you, too, Eddie,” Richie says.

And they’re pressed so close that Eddie feels it in Richie’s ribs. He feels it in his ribs, too.


End file.
